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THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 
J, E. BUCKROSE 


BY J. E. BUCKROSE 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 
YOUNG HEARTS 
MARRIAGE WHILE YOU WAIT 
THE TALE OF MR. TUBBS 
THE SILENT LEGION 
THE GOSSIP SHOP 
THE MATCHMAKERS 
THE ROUND-ABOUT 
SPRAY ON THE WINDOWS 
GAY MORNING 
BECAUSE, OF JANE 
A BACHELOR^S COMEDY 
THE BROWNS 


NEW YORK 

GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 




, ./ 


■■■ (■ 

7 ■' 



THE GIRL 
IN FANCY DRESS 



BY 

J. E. BUCKROSE 

AUTHOR OF "the GOSSIP SHOP," ^ 

"young hearts," etc. 


NEW 


YORK 


GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 




.>v 


C. 


COPYRIGHT, 1921, 

BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 


/ 


MiJijy 

/ 

I 

I 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


CONTENTS 


Cl- 

A 


CHAPTEB PAGE 

I THE AEBIVAL 9 

II PIERROT AND A POLONY 29 

III WISE WOMEN CHANGE THEIR MINDS ... 47 

IV LOVE — AND — KISSES — JOHN 60 

V THE FANCY DRESS BALL 82 

/ 

VI THE LADY OF LOVE — AND — KISSES — JOHN . 106 

VII AT THE PANTOMIME 122 

VIII CUPID’s reluctant MESSENGER .... 133 

IX WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES TWELVE . . . 149 

X THE GINGERBREAD HOUSE 162 

XI THE UNEXPECTED ALWAYS HAPPENS . . . 177 

XII SEE-SAW 190 

XIII AN EPISCOPAL EPISODE 203 

XIV AN hour’s amusement 216 

XV THE LADY OP THE MANOR 230 

XVI A CHARITY PERFORMANCE 244 

XVII THE GOD IN THE CAR 255 

XVIII THE ROAD 265 




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THE GIRL 
IN FANCY DRESS 


CHAPTER I 

THE ARRIVAL 

A valuable French clock on the mantelpiece, which 
Mr. Walgrove had once bought at a furniture sale, pointed 
to half-past three of a January afternoon, and the fire- 
light in the open grate leapt up, causing a well-modelled 
calf in bronze gilt that supported the dial to stand out 
very clearly amid the shadows. Immediately beneath the 
clock knelt the young widowed daughter of the house, 
Feodora Keithley, who appeared to be performing an act 
of adoration, though as a matter of fact, she was only 
arranging the logs on the fire. Behind her stood her 
father, Mr. James Walgrove, a handsome, rather battered- 
looking man in expensive clothes. His head was slightly 
bent, so that the smoke from his cigar made a bluish haze 
in front of the bronze calf, almost with the effect of in- 
cense. A little farther away sat Mrs. Walgrove and the 
younger daughter, Marjorie, while the only son looked 
out of the window at the darkening afternoon. He was 
tallish, with a pale face, rather heavy-lidded eyes and black 

[9] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


hair, and had a certain stillness of gait left by rheumatism 
in the trenches. 

‘‘Well,” he said, turning from the window, “I think 
I will get some letters written, as you insisted on my 
staying at home to greet our guest. I suppose the goose 
with the golden eggs will be here by tea-time ?” 

“Anthony!” said Feo over her shoulder. “If you are 
going to take it like that, you will simply spoil every- 
thing.” 

“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Walgrove, straightening her 
slim figure, which was still that of an angular girl. 
“When you consider what an effort we shall have to 
make, while you and your father are away at the office 
all day, it does seeni rather too bad of you, dear.” 

“Especially as we’re doing it more or less on your ” 

began Marjorie, when Feo tactfully bit off the end of the 
sentence with a sharp: “Oh! I must go and see if they 
have put any flowers in Cynthia’s room.” She rose. “It 
is so annoying to think that that tiresome little second 
cousin of yours should be coming on the same day. 
Father.” 

“Can’t be helped,” said Mr. Walgrove irritably. “You 
know how the Rector of the parish wrote. We couldn’t 
let the girl starve while she was looking for another job. 
But I can’t understand why she should give him my ad- 
dress. She has no claim on me. I have never done 
anything for her.” Then at a sound from Anthony : “I 
don’t see what you are laughing at. Nothing to laugh 
at in my remark is there?” 

“No, no,” said Anthony hastily, for he knew how kind 
they all wanted to be to him, now that he had come home 
with five good money-making years gone out of his life 
[lO] 


THE ARRIVAL 


and with a stiif leg. “But about the fair Cynthia. She 
has gold, and you do hope she'll be a goose in one respect, 
don't you?" 

“How can you be so foolish?" murmured Mrs. 
Walgrove, rather uneasily, for even before Anthony went 
out, he had always been a little tiresome and obstinate, 
though for a time they had forgotten all his faults. 

He put his hand on her shoulder as he passed. “I’ll be- 
have, Mother. Trust me. By next week at this time, the 
golden goose will be head over ears in love with me." 

As the door closed on him, Mrs. Walgrove sighed. 

“I've almost prayed he and this girl may take a fancy 
to each other," she said. “And now he talks like this. 
One never knows what he will do. I wouldn’t have him 
marry for money, of course " 

“No,” said Mr. Walgrove. “But it would be a grand 
solution of the difficulty, for I can't give Anthony a share 
in the business to marry on, in the present state of things, 
unless I impoverish myself and the rest of my family. And 
I do not wish to do that." 

Mrs. Walgrove, who was of a county family, while her 
husband had been the handsome son of a small local wine- 
merchant, looked as if he certainly must not expect a 
Vinder by birth to live in anything but a detached 
residence. “But it certainly does seem a compliment that 
my old school-friend should wish to entrust her niece 
Cynthia to us," she continued. “That shows, girls, how 
wise it is to keep up a correspondence, even when it 
appears to lead to nowhere. Now you see, when Mrs. 
Rayburn wants to let this child have a little youthful 
society, she naturally turns to me." 

“Well, I can't understand it, considering you have not 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 

met for many years,” said Feo. “But I daresay Mrs. 
Rayburn has become rather a crank with living alone in 
the country and seeing no one. Still, I wish to goodness 
the other girl were not coming at the same time.” 

“Cousin Nellie may not turn up today, after all,” said 
Marjorie. “We don't really know whether she will not 
put her visit off until next week, you know. That would 
give Cynthia time to settle down before introducing this 
tiresome little creature to her.” 

“The little creature may be six foot high and eleven 
stone in weight, for all we know,” said Feo. “But I do 
call it rather rough luck. Mother, having two unknown 
females thrown on us at once, even though one of them 
is a very desirable guest.” 

“Mrs. Rayburn's niece has no doubt been most simply 
brought up, like most young girls in her position,” said 
Mrs. Walgrove, primming her thin lips. “I know we 
were at home.” 

And Feo responded to the suggestion that of course 
Mother’s people were superior, by saying at once : “I hope 
this cousin of Father's won’t be anything like that other 
one we met at Scarborough. Do you remember how 
perfectly awful she was? I can't see why we should 
be bothered with a relative we have never seen.” 

“The Rector of Appleby knows our Bishop,” said Mr. 
Walgrove, “and he seems to be fond of this Nellie Wal- 
grove. Our own name, too. We could not refuse to take 
her in for a few weeks until she found a situation as 
nursery governess or something. You know how unjust 
people are.” 

“Oh well, I am glad you invited Mrs. Robinson to tea 
this first afternoon, for she is so smart and such a good 

[12] 


THE ARRIVAL 


talker. This Cynthia-person will see we have decent 
friends at any rate,” said Marjorie. “Now it is time we 
went to change, I suppose. Where’s Chloe? I do hope 
she’ll behave decently, Feo.” 

“I don’t know why you are always so down on my 
child,” said Feo, flushing. “I should have thought you 
would want to protect a poor fatherless ” 

“Protect!” interposed Marjorie, with a laugh. Then 
she walked out of the room followed by her mother and 
sister. Mr. Walgrove went to speak through the tele- 
phone, which was placed in a corner of the hall, and then 
he also departed to the small smoking-room to read his 
paper. The hall was now empty but for the shadows, 
and the golden calf had ceased to catch the firelight. 

A minute or two later, the charwoman came to tidy 
up the fireplace because the Walgroves were without a 
housemaid. She switched on the light and hummed to 
herself as she brushed up the cinders, thinking of the 
pleasant evening she would have at the Cinema, then she 
went out. After that, a thin, red-haired child with a tre- 
mendous length of black leg peered through a green 
baize door leading from the back regions. Almost im- 
mediately, there was the sound of a car stopping, and 
the child ran across the hall to open the door. 

A girl came forward into the strong light, and even 
Marjorie might have pardoned Chloe’s dropped chin and 
astounded stare in view of the spectacle which the visitor 
presented. 

“Goodness!” piped the child, always articulate under 
any circumstances. “Is that how country cousins dress? 
No wonder Mother and Marjorie didn’t seem very keen 
— I mean, when that awfully rich Cynthia was coming 

[13] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


too. Where’s your box? Haven^t you even got a hox?^* 
she added in an increasing crescendo. 

The girl shook her head, but beneath the preposterous 
straw hat trimmed with red poppies and black ostrich 
feathers, it could be seen that her glance was gay and 
amused. 

*‘What do you know about Cynthia being rich?” she 
said. 

‘T know because she’s going to stay here and marry 
Uncle Tony. He has no money and he’s stiff after the 
war,” said Chloe, staring up solemnly with her long, dark 
eyes under her mop of red hair. 

“Oh, is he?” said the girl in an odd tone. 

“At least we hope he will; though Granny was cross 
with him for calling Cynthia the goose with the golden 
eggs. It was rude, wasn’t it ? So you see we felt a little 
sorry you were coming to-day, too, because you most 
likely wouldn’t have any aitches and would be a dreadful 
let down,” continued Chloe. She paused and again re- 
garded the new-comer. “I’m sure I don’t know what 
Mother and the rest will say. You really do look so 
funny ; like cook, only with a kind of girly face. Never 
mind, though — if they are too horrid. I’ll just have you 
up in my nursery. But I say: where did you get such a 
kind of hat?” 

“Same place as I got my dress, of course,” said the 
girl, dropping a curtesy and making a cheese with the 
wide, grey fustian skirt. 

“Hee ! Hee !” laughed Chloe shrilly. “Only you mustn’t 
do that when the people come to tea, you know, or else 
Mother will say you are unladylike. Mrs. Robinson is 
coming,” Chloe dropped her voice reverently, “and she 

[14] 


THE ARRIVAL 


is the niece of a millionaire. Look here, this is how you 
must shake hands, my dear.” And the stick-like arm and 
little thin paw were held out in travesty of Feo’s best 
manner. ^'Delighted to meet you, Mrs. Robinson. Like 
that ! See ?” 

The girl laughed out, a very sweet, heart-whole sort 
of laughter. “You are a funny little thing!” 

Chloe frowned. “You wait a bit,” she said. “If you 
say ‘How do you do?’ with that awful frock swirling 
round as you did just now, you’ll be laughing on the 
other side of your face.” She grinned once more. 
“That’s what our charwoman says. I do think it’s fum^, 
don’t you? Fancy seeing people suddenly smile across 
the back of their heads, ’specially if they were bald ” 

But the girl was not listening, though her bright eyes 
remained fixed intently on the speaker. “What fun I” she 
was saying to herself. “They take me for a raw country 
cousin. Well, I’ll be one!” Then, obviously in answer 
to the remonstrances of some inward monitor, “I don’t 
care! They deserve it. Fancy bringing up a child so 
that she drops her voice when she mentions the niece of 
I a millionaire — and planning to marry me to their money- 

! grubbing son Goose with the golden eggs, indeed!” 

! She began to laugh again, so gaily and infectiously that 
I Chloe laughed with her. 

I “I say, you are a jolly one! Nobody would think you 
were ill and ground down with being a nursery governess 
in the depths of the country all your life, would they? 
You look as well, as well,” said Chloe. “Oh, there’s my 
cat mewing!” And she was away through the door lead- 
ing to the kitchen. 

The girl gave a hasty glance round and flew ‘to the 

[15] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


telephone: “The Station Hotel. I don’t know the num- 
ber. If you could be so kind ” A moment or two’s 

agonized impatience. “Yes? Yes. I am Miss Cynthia 
Rayburn. Send Miss Rayburn’s maid at once, please.” 
Another wait, with sounds approaching from the stair- 
case leading into the hall. “Emma! That you? I’m at 
Mr. Walgrove’s. I had a spill into a wet ditch and bor- 
rowed some clothes, but I’m quite all right. No. You 
are not to bring the boxes on here as arranged: not to 
bring them — do you understand? Engage a room for 
me and stay where you are, until I let you know. Is 
that quite clear ?” An evident remonstrance. “Oh, hang 
Godmother! No, I don’t mean that.” More argument, 
obviously, from Cynthia’s frown. “But I tell you. I’m 
not doing anything foolish. I am here all right, and you 
are to stay there.” A further and apparently more seri- 
ous argument. “Very well, I promise to be with you 
before ten o’clock to-night at the hotel, but you are on 
no account to communicate with Mrs. Rayburn. There 
is no need whatever to worry. I am only going to give 

this family a much-needed ” She dashed the receiver 

down on the stand and turned to greet her hostess, who 
now stood in the wide archway leading to the stairs. 

“Oh — er — ^how do you do?” said Mrs. Walgrove. 

“Chloe told me ” But it was evidently so much more 

than Chloe had told, that she could get no further. 

Cynthia hastily sought an excuse for her presence at 
the telephone that would fit in with her new character. 
“I — ^I was just wondering what this queer thing could be. 
D-do you blow into it ? I wanted to malce it play a tune. 
I do love music!” she said artlessly. In her excitement 
she overacted the part of the country cousin to such a 


THE ARRIVAL 


degree that any detached spectator would have put her 
down as a harmless lunatic. However, the agitated lady 
was so distressed to see her worst fears realized that she 
was capable of only one thought — that at all costs she 
must remove this guest out of sight before the other one 
should appear, for the first impression was all-important, 
and what would the heiress think of this terrible young 
person ? 

“So pleased to see you : but — ^but won’t you come up- 
stairs at once and take off your things ?” she said eagerly. 
“As you are not in good health, I am sure you will prefer 
to have a cup of nice hot tea in your own room.” 

“How kind you are!” said Cynthia. “But do you 
know, I already feel much better, and the doctor told 
me to get as much cheerful company as I could! You 
see, when you only associate with pigs and cocks and 
hens — outside the family, of course — you get a tiny bit 
what I call farm-yardy; don’t you? So, if you please, I 
would rather stop down here.” 

“But you look tired, you look dreadfully tired,” urged 
Mrs. Walgrove. “I’m sure you ought to come upstairs 

at once and ” She broke off, groaning inwardly: 

“Oh, this is the worst of a hall sitting-room!” And as 
Mrs. Robinson was ushered in she wished from the 
bottom of her heart that she had never caused the humble 
passage entrance of her earlier married life to be knocked 
into the morning-room and adorned with imitation panel- 
ling. Still, she advanced with all her usual precise “lady- 
likeness” of demeanour to greet the new arrival. Be- 
fore the greeting was over, the daughters of the house 
came in, and they, too, stood for a second in the door- 
way, not unnaturally transfixed at the sight of the girl 

[17] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


in the straw hat, black jacket and wide stuff skirt of the 
cottager’s wife, which Cynthia Rayburn had borrowed 
after getting wet through. With her customary impa- 
tience, she had found it too tedious to wait for her own 
clothes to dry, and had rather liked the idea of showing 
herself in this comic get-up to the jolly, simple, good- 
hearted family whom she expected to find. When she 
saw the expression of Feo and Marjorie in the doorway, 
she felt ver}^ glad indeed that things had fallen out as 
they had done. 

It was to this family, then, that the dear Aunt Har- 
riet had sent her for a change from the jazzing, cigarette- 
smoking generation which the quiet country lady could 
not understand. Cynthia had come entirely to please Mrs. 
Rayburn, who clung to the memories of youth more and 
more strongly as the years passed by: and her own head 
was filled with those old tales of “When Millicent and I 
were girls,” which she had heard all her life, and which 
had prepared her to feel very kindly towards “Milli- 
cent’s” daughters. “Not people of your world, dear,” 
Mrs. Rayburn had warned, “but simple and kind, I’m 
sure, from her letters. You’ll see a little of what we 

were like when we were young at home ” And now 

as all this rushed through Cynthia’s mind while she stood 
looking at the two young women in the doorway, she 
repented a little. Then Feo came forward and greeted 
the near relative of half a million with such effusion that 
Cynthia’s sense of fun bubbled up again, and she deter- 
mined to avenge both herself and that unknown country 
girl. 

After all, she’d a right to get some amusement out of 
the affair, and they fully deserved what they were about 
[i8] 


THE ARRIVAL 


to receive. . . . She stood meekly waiting her turn be- 
neath the golden calf on the mantelpiece until her sup- 
posed cousins became aware of her presence and offered 
a tepid cheek, making it clear — even while they performed 
this act — that they were being “kind” to a little cousin 
out of a situation, who had been recommended to them 
by a friend of the dear Bishop. 

Upon this Mrs. Robinson held out an almost cordial 
hand, because any one, even one quite nearly connected 
with a million of money, can be “nice” to an object of 
philanthropy without fear of complications: and the 
spoilt Cynthia then and there registered a vow never, 
never to be “nice” to any one dependent or poor again 
as long as she lived. Was that how it looked from the 
other end? Then how hard the discipline of life must 
be which taught you not to throw something very heavy 
with comers in the face of the person who was displaying 
the “niceness!” She angered herself ridiculously for 
the sake of the little country cousin who would have been 
treated so, and was filled with a sort of laughing vindic- 
tiveness. 

“Just to think,” she said aloud, “that I was afraid 
of coming among such grand folks! And now you all 
behave as kindly to me as if I were that rich young 
lady you are expecting.” 

“Sugar?” said. Mrs. Walgrove in an icy tone. “My 
name is Millicent.” 

“And a very nice ” began Cynthia, when she 

remembered with a start that her own supposed name had 
escaped her. “Not like my old name, is it?” she asked, 
rather breathlessly. 


[19] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY PRESS 

“I think ‘Nellie’ is quite suitable,” replied 'Mrs. Wal- 
grove. 

“Oh, Mrs. Robinson,” interposed Marjorie, “did you 
notice Lady Walker at the last committee meeting? I 
really thought I should have expired. The way she tried 
to take the lead, when every one knows she only subscribed 
five shillings against your ten pounds.” 

“Insufferable woman !” said Feo. “Fm sure you were 
most forbearing, dear Mrs. Robinson.” 

“That just bears out what my Great Aunt used to 
say,” said Cynthia cheerfully, not to be excluded by such 
unskilful tactics. “Money always talks sense, and that’s 
why those who have it can talk any nonsense they like 
and get listened to: nobody hears them. She was a 
clever old lady, was my Great Aunt. You never knew 
her, Cousin Millicent, did you?” 

“I did not. Do try one of these little hot cakes, Mrs. 
Robinson,” urged poor Mrs. Walgrove. 

“We had them made on purpose for you,” added Feo, 
“you always say you like them.” 

“Delicious,” said Mrs. Robinson. And in the end 
the four ladies closed in, as it were, drawing a barrier 
of hot-cake and conversation round them, and excluding 
the forward young person who sat a few feet away. 

So Cynthia, who had had no lunch, fell upon the 
hot cakes destined for an oblation to a high priestess 
of the religion, and thus further outraged the principles 
laid down for the behaviour of a second cousin who 
is also a nursery governess and dependent on her hostess 
owing to a breakdown in health. By all the laws that 
govern human society, she should have waited until 
the plate was passed, and then have nibbled with seeming 
[ 20 ] 


THE ARRIVAL 


reluctance: but she was not aware of this, and had 
stretched out her hand for the third cake, when a move- 
ment of Mrs. Walgrove’s caused her to glance round, 
and she saw Mr. Walgrove and Anthony pausing with 
the now familiar expression of worried surprise in the 
doorway. Immediately Mrs. Walgrove’s clear accents 
cut the chilly atmosphere. “Henry! Here is your cousin, 
Nellie Walgrove.” And the faint accent on the possessive 
pronoun left it to be assumed that the Vinder family 
could never have produced such an off-shoot, however 
poorly circumstanced. 

Cynthia glanced towards Mr. Walgrove rather 
nervously, the blood rushing up through her fair skin. If 
he were kind, she could not keep this up ; she would have 
to say at once that she had been led for the thousandth 
time in her life into a foolish practical joke. And yet, 
after all, she wanted it to happen so. As she rose from 
her seat, she felt the little twitching at the left corner of 
her mouth which had come there when she was in sus- 
pense, ever since she was a tiny thing waiting for a present 
to be unwrapped. . . . Now Mr. Walgrove^s agreeable 
baritone travelled before him as he advanced across the 
polished floor. “Ha! How de do. Miss Walgrove? More 
kin than kind hitherto, I think: but I suppose we are 
cousins, two or three times removed.” Then, with a brief 
handshake, he passed on to bestow his attention upon his 
other guest, banishing Cynthia absolutely and finally to 
that limbo where he relegated all women who were neither 
rich, socially important or smartly dressed. It was the first 
time that Cynthia had been treated quite in that way, and 
she did not like it. Then she remembered that this atti- 
tude was intended for the country cousin and not for 

[ 21 ] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 

Cynthia Rayburn : but that did not make her more inclined 
to forgive him. She quite unnecessarily failed to make 
allowances for the effect of the black cloth coat, poppies 
and ostrich feathers combined, on a mind susceptible to 
every social draught, and said to herself angrily : ^‘Pomp- 
ous ass ! I’ll make you sorry before I have done. Grinning 
your head off at that tiresome woman because she is well 
off ! That poor, poor, little real cousin !” 

So when Anthony came forward, she was in such a glow 
of indignation that she could scarcely bring herself to take 
his hand. Detestable money-grubbers ! They should 
have one horrid quarter of an hour, anyway; but as for 
staying with them acording to her godmother^s arrange- 
ments — the idea was preposterous. She would certainly 
join her boxes at the Station Hotel before bed-time. 
Meanwhile, she would make the Walgroves supremely 
uncomfortable, which was, after all, a very light punish- 
ment for planning to entrap her into a mercenary marriage. 

But as she returned Anthony’s greeting and looked at 
his lean face, which had the sort of gravity which becomes 
tender or gay at once in the right company, her half- 
artificial anger flamed up into a real indignation. How 
could anyone having a face and eyes like that name her 
the goose with the golden eggs and design to marry her 
for her money? She felt that the outrage was far worse, 
coming from such a man, than it would have been from a 
lumpish fellow with no capacity for romance. 

The ugly incongruity of it — like seeing an Arab yoked 
to a manure cart — further irritated nerves that were 
more shaken than she knew by the motor accident earlier 
in the day. Then across these whirling thoughts fell 
Anthony’s careless: “Hope you had a pleasant journey, 
[ 22 ] 


THE ARRIVAL 


Cousin Nellie.” After which he devoted himself to his 
tea with the same assiduity as his father to flattering 
Mrs. Robinson. 

Mr. Walgrove was a social acquisition everywhere in 
Mabingstoke, and in all that progressive and enlightened 
city he reigned, par excellence, the pattern of the middle- 
aged buck. His iron-grey hair still waved a little, his 
teeth gleamed so agreeably between his handsome lips 
when he smiled, his nose and his legs were so straight, 
that even his wife felt gratified every time she saw him 
across a ball-room. As Cynthia listened to his conversa- 
tion, she realized with what avidity those agreeable noth- 
ings would be poured out before her shrine if he only 
knew, and her anger once more began to be tempered by 
amusement. With eyes twinkling under demure eye- 
lids, she leaned forward and said to him : **It does seem 
funny to see you sitting there!” 

“Why?” said he sharply, surprised and annoyed at 
being interrupted in his conversation with Mrs. Robinson. 

Cynthia chuckled. “Why, because Cousin Jane Ogle 
has so often told me about your selling your suit to a 
tramp for three halfpence and coming home in an old 
newspaper. And when she asked you why you did it, 
you lisped out: "I doth love money tho’, Couthin Jane.' 
She used to laugh like ” 

“It never happened,” interrupted Mr. Walgrove 
aibruptly. “The old lady must have been wandering. I 
can't even remember such a person.” 

“Oh, you wouldn't,” assented Cynthia cordially, “for 
Cousin Jane Ogle always used to say that there was 
nothing for slipping out of mind like poor relations : they 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


seem spiritually greased, somehow. Don’t you think 
they do, Mrs. Robinson?’' 

“Fm sure I don’t know,” said Mrs. Robinson very 
stiffly; and, indeed, this random shot made the blood of 
the Walgroves run cold, because it was known to all 
Mabingstoke that since the lady’s rise in the world she 
had entirely cut sixteen of Mr. Robinson’s near connec- 
tions. 

“I suppose you like a country life, Cousin Nellie?” 
interposed Feo hastily, for it being impossible to keep 
this terrible person out of the conversation, the only 
remedy was to try and introduce safe topics. “Chickens 
and so on?” 

“Love them!” said Cynthia; then she glanced for a 
second at Anthony under her eyelashes, and perceived 
him to be looking bored. “Particularly geese!” she 
added. “Don’t you love geese. Cousin Anthony?” 

At first all five Walgroves looked startled: then they 
began to think that this extraordinary girl must have 
been sent to them because her late employers could not 
undertake the responsibility of dealing with a partially 
demented person. If so, the behavior of the clergyman, 
be he friend of the dear Bishop or no, had been most 
culpable. 

“Why are you attached to geese?” said Anthony, after 
a pause. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” smiled Cynthia. “I expect because 
I have always liked the tale of the goose with the golden 
eggs.” 

The Walgroves felt still more uncomfortable: it was 
a mere coincidence again, of course, and yet it seemed 
so odd. But Mrs. Walgrove exerted all her social tact 

[24] 


THE ARRIVAL 


to glide over the awkward pause. “How strange it is 
that if one mentions a thing once, some further mention 
of it so often takes place within a short time. It must 
be years since I spoke of that little story, and yet we only 
referred to it an hour or two ago.” 

“There is a great deal in those things that we don^t 
understand yet,” said Feo soulfully. 

“Anyway,” said Cynthia, with an emphasis for which 
her hearers naturally failed to see the reason, “I would 
rather be a Golden Goose than a Designing Duck.” 

“Ha! Ha!” laughed Anthony. “I’ve met some rather 
delicious designing ducks.” 

Mrs. Walgrove frowned: for there he went again — 
laughing, as ever, in the wrong place. 

“I suppose you understand poultry?” said Mr. Wal- 
grove, intensely irritated by the knowledge that he had 
to make this creature the centre of conversation, lest 
worse should happen if she were left to choose her own 
topic. 

“Of course I do,” responded Cynthia. “Shall I show 
you how our old cock used to go?” And she rose from 
her seat, displaying to advantage the grey skirt and the 
black jacket. “Or perhaps you’d rather I said a piece?’' 
For Anthony’s laughter had changed her mood again 
and she was now mischievously engrossed in the fun of 
impersonating the country cousin, all trace of vindictive- 
ness having vanished. 

“Thank you: later,” said Mr. Walgrove coldly. “By 
the way, Mrs. Robinson, we are expecting a young friend 
to-day — 3 , Miss Cynthia Rayburn. Quite an heiress. I 
don’t know how quiet people like ourselves ” 

“But Cousin Jane Ogle always said anybody ought to 

[25] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


be worth their meat when they went out,” persisted 
Cynthia. “I don’t mind saying a piece to amuse you, 
at all, and you do seem to want cheering up.” 

Once more there came a most inopportune sign of 
amusement from Anthony. Cynthia threw out her hand, 
struck an attitude that disagreed preposterously with her 
toilette, and declaimed — 

“I stood on the bridge at midnight 
As the clock was striking the hour. 

And I wished to forget the prawns I’d had, 

But that was beyond my power !” 

In the frozen pause that followed Cynthia turned 
cheerfully to Mr. Walgrove. “I recited that because it 
was such a favourite with Cousin Jane Ogle. She said 
it touched her. She suffered from indigestion, if you 
remember ?” 

‘‘Marjorie,” said Mrs. Walgrove, in a dreadful tone. 
“Will you please show your Cousin Nellie to her room 
at once? I am sure she will like to rest and unpack.” 

“Thank you,” said Cynthia, “but I would really rather 
stay here. You see, I can’t unpack without any luggage.” 

“No luggage!” breathed Mrs. Robinson, startled into 
naturalness at last. For in her world a girl could do 
without her soul better than her clothes. 

“You mean you have lost it!” said Anthony. 

“No, I don’t,” said Cynthia, smiling on him. “It is 
like the Irishman’s kettle : I know where it is, but I can’t 
get at it for the moment.” 

“Then how do you propose ” said Mrs. Walgrove, 

rendered almost inarticulate by excess of feeling. 

[26] 


THE ARRIVAL 


Cynthia winked at Anthony: winked at the only son 
of the house — under that awful hat — in the presence of 
the niece of a millionaire. “Bless you, I don’t propose,” 
she chuckled ; “I leave that to other folks.” But she felt 
the blood rising to her cheeks as she caught Anthony’s 
eyes fixed on her with a sort of questioning shrewdness, 
and she knew that she had overacted her part ; that the 
others only failed to detect it because they were so con- 
cerned as to what she would say next, and so anxious 
that she should retire before the heiress was announced. 

Then there was a loud ring at the front door, and the 
startling thought at once occurred to her that this was 
the real cousin. If so, now for the time of reckoning 
which had so often before followed on the vagaries of 
the spoilt heiress, though less often than she deserved, or 
else she would not have ventured into her present ridicu- 
lous situation — ^but it was only the postman. With heart- 
felt joy the Walgrove family heard the next words fall 
from Cynthia’s lips : “I think after all, I will go upstairs 
and take off my hat.” 

For it was impossible to explain matters in the pres- 
ence of Mrs. Robinson. 

Marjorie accompanied the guest, abrupt and non-com- 
mittal, mentioning bleakly that dinner was at seven and 
immediately going downstairs; but Cynthia did not give 
that unresponsive young lady more than a moment’s con- 
sideration, What really did concern her as she sat up 
there in the gathering darkness, looking at the grimy 
garden, was first what Anthony had really thought ; and 
second, how she was going to extricate herself decently 
from the present impasse. But she made a firm resolu- 
tion for the hundredth time in her life, that never again 

[27] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


would she give rein to that side of her nature which was 
always leading her into trouble, and thus fortified, she 
went downstairs to face the consequences of her very 
last act of folly. From henceforth she would take her 
responsibilities as she had been so often warned that she 
must some day begin to do. No dressing-up ; no practical 
jokes; only marriage with a rising politician — perhaps — 
and the other duties of her position in the world. 


[28] 


CHAPTER II 


PIERROT AND A POLONY 

Cynthia found the hall empty and in semi-darkness, 
which was annoying when she had braced herself to walk 
in upon the assembled family with the confession of the 
trick she had played upon them. Yet, at the same time, 
it was a relief ; for she saw more and more plainly what 
an idiotic thing she had done. The well-known and al- 
ways forgotten stage had in fact been reached when she 
repented bitterly and promised herself never, never, never 
— with an ascending intensity — ^to do it again. On look- 
ing back — as so often before — she was quite unable to 
understand how she could possibly have wanted to amuse 
herself in that way, because the whole affair appeared 
now entirely devoid of the colours which her lively im- 
agination had given to it. She said to herself, stand- 
ing there in the firelight which gleamed and glanced on 
her bright hair and on the loose cotton blouse lent by the 
mother of eight, that she must be possessed. Yes: that 
was it, no doubt. Some power inside her, and yet not of 
her, must possess her. Otherwise, why had she pretended 
to be the country cousin instead of herself — Cynthia 
Rayburn? She gave it up, and sighed deeply, staring 
into the fire. 

When she turned away, there was Anthony standing 
silently near her. 


[29] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


He had come in his thin shoes across the heavily 
piled carpet, and a gleam of firelight just caught his white 
shirt and part of the golden calf on the clock behind 
him. A distant electric bulb gave a faint illumination to 
the dimness of the hall. 

“Well,’" he said, ‘‘and how are you getting on now, 
Cinderella ?’* 

“Pretty well, thank you,*’ said Cynthia; and at once 
that irrepressible Something in her began sitting up again 
and taking notice. It was not dead and done for as she 
had promised herself so faithfully. “Are you the Cat, 
the Fairy Godmother, or the Prince? I can’t see by this 
light, but I rather think by the white on your chest you 
must be the Cat.” 

“You are mistaken,” said Anthony, very solemn but 
for his twinkling, heavy-lidded eyes. “I am the Prince. 
You can tell that by the crown of my head.” 

“The crown of ” she began ; then broke off. “You 

are a silly!” 

“So are you, for that matter,” said Anthony. Then 
he leaned down towards her and said in a stage whisper : 
“There is no Cousin Jane Ogle.” 

“What do you mean?” said Cynthia, startled. 

“I beg your pardon,” amended Anthony hastily. “I 
ought to have said she exists only in the same realm as you 
and me. How tiresome of me ! Of course, she is really 
a Fairy Godmother — or a witch — so she goes beautifully 

with Cinderella. Can’t think how I could be so dull ” 

They both turned at a noise without. 

“That’s the coach-and-four,” chuckled Cynthia. 

Then he was speaking again, touching her on the arm 
with his long slim fingers. “Cinderella I” he said. And she 

[30] 


PIERROT AND A POLONY 


looked up at him, so gay and sparkling in the loose blouse 
and wide skirt with her pretty hair rather disordered that, 
for the life of him, he could not help adding : “Time you 
got ready to fly with me, you know, Cinderella.” 

“Where to ?” she said lightly, feeling the electric touch 
of his fingers on her arm. 

“To the country of Happy Marriage; the one you see 
at the end of Pantomime when you are eight,” said An- 
thony with perfect gravity. “Pm sure you and I could 
find the way back there together, though armed Fairies do 
guard the sign-posts on purpose to mislead you when you 
grow* up.” He bent nearer still and suddenly kissed her 
round childish cheek. “Perhaps we’ll try one day, 
Cinderella.” 

She pushed him away. “Oh, why did you do that? 
That’s spoilt it all.” 

“I’m awfully sorry,” he said. “I’ve not gone on in 
that way since I was a little boy.” 

“Good thing, too,” said Cynthia. 

“I mean the pretending, you know, not the kissing,” he 
said. “It must have been something in you that led me 
on.” 

“Of course!' The woman tempted me,” said Cynthia. 

“No. It was a sort of instinct that you knew the game 
too.” Then he added in a different tone : “Not that I have 
the slightest excuse to offer for my behaviour.” And he 
pressed a button, suddenly flooding them both with a 
rather garish electric light. 

“You would not have done it if I had been the heiress 
you are all expecting,” she said. 

“No, I certainly should not,” he answered. 

“Then why did you?” she persisted. 


[31] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


He looked thoughtfully at her. ‘‘I don’t know — yes, I 
do. Perhaps I will tell you some day.” 

She stood looking at him, taking his measure — sl strand 
of hair lay across her flushed cheek. ‘‘After all, I suppose 
you think cousins are sort of brothers?” 

“No,” said Anthony. “Not at that price.” 

“At what price?” said Cynthia. 

“I don’t purchase my absolution at the cost of being 
considered a brother,” said Anthony. “I won’t be a 
brother, Cinderella.” 

“Perhaps you are right,” said Cynthia. “I never did 
hear of a Fairy Prince with a sister in all my life.” Then 
she gave a little inward groan, adding to herself : “Oh, 
dear me! Now we’ve got to be real again with a ven- 
geance.” And now she sought for suitable words in 
which to tell her story, but they were hard to find. “I 

ought to tell you ” she began in a low voice, addressing 

his back, because he was putting wood on the fire. 

He crashed down the log and a shower of lovely sparks 
flew up. “Talking of sisters — ^that was what I really 
had to explain to you. Feo and Marjorie hoped you 
would not very much mind being left alone, but the fact 
is, the whole family are dining at the Station Hotel this 
evening.” 

“The Station Hotel?” said Cynthia. 

“Yes. Do you know it?” said Anthony, surprised. 

“No. Yes. I know of it, of course. All town stations 
have hotels, don’t they?” said Cynthia, recovering her- 
self. 

Anthony glanced at her with a glimmer of doubt in 
his eyes, but her clear, open look was not an encourager 
of suspicion. “A great many town stations have no 

[32] 


PIERROT AND A POLONY 


hotels/' he said. “But this is a good one, and as we are 
without a cook and a housemaid until to-morrow, my 
people had ordered dinner there on account of Miss 
Cynthia Rayburn." 

Cynthia smiled at him in spite of her growing discom- 
fort, because she thought the name seemed so nice from 
those peculiarly well-shaped, mobile lips. 

“Is Miss Cynthia Rayburn so fond of eating as all 
that ?" she said, after a pause. 

“I expect she is no fonder than the usual fashionable 
girl," he answered. “But as the dinner at the hotel had 
to be paid for, they might as well enjoy it." 

“Why are you not there too?" said Cynthia. Then 
she added gaily: “Oh, I know! I know! You must be 
here to receive great Cynthia in case she should turn up 
to-night." But a sudden unreasonable anger that he 
should be waiting for another girl — even though that girl 
was supposed to be herself — ^made her hot all over, for 
she was reminded that he and all the family awaited 
the goose with the golden eggs without caring at all what 
the real girl might be like; and she felt at that moment 
the bitterness which must come with riches, lest things 
be too unevenly divided for men to endure. . . . And yet 
he could be a Fairy Prince to her Cinderella in the twi- 
light. She stood there, questioning him and life with 
those grey eyes that opened so roundly, like a child's. 

“I hope you don't mind being left at home with me," 
he said, breaking a silence which threatened to become 
awkward. “The rest are all going on to the theatre after- 
wards as the tickets were taken. The play begins so very 
early in Mabingstoke that dinner had to be ordered for 
a quarter to seven, and Mrs. Robinson did not leave 

[33] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


here until half-past six. They were in a great hurry, 
and told me to make all sorts of apologies to you.** 

Cynthia nodded. ^‘Make your mind easy!’* she said. 
’‘T have no desire to be of the party. And I suppose 
they were afraid I should look wistful if they told me 
what they were going to do, but I never do look wist- 
ful when I can’t do things; I only look cross. Still, I 
quite understand. Angels wouldn’t want to take a cousiu 
out to dine in this get-up, would they?’* 

‘"Angels would have thought of lending you a gowil,’^ 
said Anthony quickly, “and I am sure the girls would 
have done so if they had not been in such a hurry. I do 
hope you won’t get the idea that they mean to be un- 
kind, just because they were a little off-hand in their man- 
ner when you first came. And after all, you had your 
revenge. You gave them Cousin Jane Ogle. Please 
don’t think we any of us mean to be unkind.” : 

“Of course not,” said Cynthia quite gravely. “If you 
were, you would not be ready to take in a penniless cousin 
suffering from the effects of ’flu.” 

“We were all sorry to hear you had been ill, but you 
look better now, so I hope you are,” he said. “Only 
you must not be in any hurry about taking another job, 
you know. I remember how rotten I felt after ’flu. You 
go slow and have a good, long holiday; and Remember, 
we are all very pleased to see you.” 

think you are,*’ said Cynthia, and she made the 
4r^s On the “you” so light that he could not remark 
04 it 

Thejt came a rattle of crockery-— both somehow felt 
that a moment of disagreeable reality was well ovet. As 
Cynthia watched a girl lay a small square doth on tha 


PIERROT AND A POLONY 


little table before the fire, she made up her mind to enjoy 
this meal before going back to the hotel. It was cowardly, 
of course, but she would telephone her confession, and 
then she would not be there to see how Anthony took it. 
She was less concerned about the rest of the Walgrove 
family because she had been spoilt by the glamour usually 
cast over her indiscretions by her riches, and she expected 
they would easily forgive even the rude quotations from 
Cousin Jane when they found out the identity of the 
culprit. But she knew that it would never be possible 
again to play Cinderella to Anthony’s Fairy Prince, 
though her cynical belief in the power of her money 
tainted her thoughts even here. He might not “pretend” 
any more, but he would not resent her ridicule of his 
family when it came to a chance of securing the goose 
with the golden eggs. . . . Then she caught sight of 
his profile against the dark wall and something within her 
cried out: “No! Never that!” She felt that by some odd 
reasoning he would still reserve the right to condemn 
her, even if he married her for her money. He would 
see her as the purse-proud heiress who thought herself 
free to poke fun at poorer people because of that money. 
As she stood there looking at his clear profile against 
the wall, she would see him, with the eyes of the im- 
agination, receding even as a husband into some mist 
where his wife would never find the real Anthony any 
more; her mind leapt to the true conclusion that only 
the purest accident had enabled her to find him now. 

But Chloe’s nurse — by an act of great grace and under 
protest — was taking the supper from the charwoman to 
place it upon the table before the hearth and Cynthia’s 
spirits began to rise again ; for the terrible pink polony, 

[35] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


the dish of round cakes, the loaf, and the butter, the jug 
of water and glass looked so exactly like a meal in an old 
illustrated fairy-tale. She felt very glad now that she 
had put off the explanation until her return to the hotel 
Then she heard Anthony's discreet murmur to the maid : 
“Another plate and glass, please." 

“I understood you would take dinner at the hotel. I 
promised to look after Miss Rayburn if she came while 
you were out," said Nurse, tossing her head. “Those were 
the instructions I had from Mrs. Walgrove." 

“Too much trouble to turn out," said Anthony, smiling 
at the girl. “I’ll get the things if you’ll show me where 
they are. I know you are short-handed." 

“Oh, it’s all right as long as you don’t mind polony," 
said Nurse, elevating her nose. 

She whisked out and in again with the glass and plate 
in a designedly amateurish manner, shut the door and left 
them to make what they liked of it. 

“Come," said Anthony, setting a chair. “Shall we 
begin ?’’ And as soon as Cynthia was in her place he, too, 
saw what she had seen, being thus delightfully brought 
back into the mood disturbed by Chloe’s nurse. “I say, 
your hair won’t do, you know,” he said smiling across at 
her. 

She clasped her hands tightly under the table and smiled 
back at him with those round eyes very wide open under 
the broad forehead. It was so lovely to have somebody to 
play with like this. Aloud she said, rather breathlessly: 
“O’f course. Two long plaits." 

And he felt an answering joy — ridiculous and yet most 
exquisite — ^the joy all men feel when loneliness between 
human souls is pierced for a moment, however trivial the 

[36] 


PIERROT AND A POLONY 


means. That and the fun of it all. “Yes !’* he continued 
eagerly. “Do you think you could? Or will it be too 
much trouble?” 

Still smiling at him, but serious too, as one always must 
be in real play, she took the pins from her hair and let it 
fall in light-brown, soft ripples over the back of her chair, 
keeping the pins on her knee. 

“Here, I’ll plait it,” he said. “I know just how it wants 
to go.” And when he took hold of the soft, resilient 
strands, he actually had no thought beyond this delicious 
playing at a fairy tale. She could feel his long fingers 
braiding it deftly as she sat there, and an odd, pleasant 
sensation kept her quite still under his hands, as if she 
were a bird and he the charmer. When he had finished 
she gave a soft little sigh. 

“Am I all right now?” she said, in a soft, rather 
clouded tone, quite unlike her usual, somewhat over-clear 
utterance. 

He leaned toward her, his eyes on the round cheek he 
had kissed before. Then she knew the light toudi of 
pursed lips again, but it was not a real kiss this time, she 
felt; only Pierrot kissing a girl in a Fairyland. She rose 
from her seat and began to cut the bread, conscious of 
his bright gaze upon her. 

“How I wish I could paint you like that!” he said 
suddenly. “You’re not Cinderella, after all, but the dear- 
est goose-girl come to life. Come and look at yourself 
in this glass.” And he pointed to one on the further wall. 

She moved at once to do his bidding, but he could see 
that, for some reason unknown to him, his words had 
broken the charm. Her lips had taken a harder line, 
though the whole picture as she stood by him before the 

[37] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


mirror in her full grey skirt and loose print blouse, with 
her round cheeks and the two long plaits down her back, 
was no less like the goose-girl in a fairy-tale than before. 

“YouVe not vexed at being called that, surely?” he 
said, feeling all at sea with this girl who understood so 
wonderfully one minute and seemed to be at fault the 
next. “IVe loved the goose-girl since I was six, you 
know.” 

He could see her wide eyes in the mirror, innocent — 
and yet thought and imagination stirring ; with a shrewd- 
ness,” almost, in the corners of her soft, girlish lips. He 
could not make her out — this little country cousin who 
had taught the farmer’s children in a remote spot ever 
since she left school — any more than she could under- 
stand how such a man as Anthony had brought himself 
to plan a mercenary marriage, or even to acquiesce in 
the plans of his family. 

So Cynthia was a little indignant as well as curious 
when she sat down, though she had been used enough to 
needy suitors pursuing her for her money ; still, she was 
curious and that has led to things happening between a 
girl and a man all down the ages. Anthony’s feeling was 
of a different kind, but he wanted to know about this 
girl with a keen ardour that was half tantalizing and half 
delightful. So they ate at the square table before the 
hearth, in the wonderful state of mind which comes of 
curiosity and youth, their bright glances meeting unex- 
pectedly as they furtively took stock oFeach other like 
two fighters at the beginning of a combat. 

And outside of all that — heightening the effect and 
yet concealing it — they were still playing at the fairy-tale 
game. 

.. [38] 


PIERROT AND A POLONY 


“Will you have some sausage, Goose-Girl?'' said 
Anthony. “It turned this awful pink because the Queen 
put too much red pepper in and then magic-ed it out 
again. But she couldn't change the colour, of course, 
because pink can't be removed by magic." His gaze went 
from her cheeks to her lips, then he touched the tip of 
her little finger as it lay on the cloth. “Don't you see 
why? It's the colour of love." 

“You're talking nonsense," said Cynthia, flushing. 

“I know I am," he said. “But I've done what I wanted, 
all the same. I’d forgotten just how lovely pink was.” 

“How can you ” murmured Cynthia. 

“Be so silly ?” he interposed ; then he lowered his voice 
confidentially: “I’ll tell you why. I can't hdp it. You 
thought Nurse was a scornful attendant of the young; 
but as a matter of fact, she was a witch with a white cap 
instead of a pointed one — for times move, even in Fairy- 
land. When she whisked out, she laid a spell on me. I 
must be silly — or I die!” As he spoke, he edged a little 
nearer. “You're really in the same box, you know. Wait 
a minute or two, and you'll feel it coming on.” He 
touched her hand lightly. “Now, don't you? Don't 
you?” — ^with his chin thrust forward and those eager 
eyes fixed on hers. 

She wavered, doubting him. What did all this perhaps 
conceal? Then he removed his hand, as if he had felt 
her thought ; and when she glanced at his face she saw 
the brightness fading out of it. In another moment, if 
she sat quite quiet, so, he would have changed under her 
eyes from this puckish playfellow to a rather worn and 
serious young man of business. With a sudden sensation 
of keeping hold physically of something that was vanish- 

[39] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


ing away, she slipped her hand into his. ‘'What are 
you?” She stopped short again, looking at him oddly. 
“Who are you like?” She paused. “Oh, I know. The 
picture of a Pierrot I once saw,” 

Anthony moved back from his eager attitude. 

“Why not say the Pet of the Promenade at once ?” he 
asked, rising abruptly from his seat. For how could she 
be at once such a disappointment and yet so responsive? 

She also rose, and stood — as it seemed — leagues and 
leagues away from that fairy supper- table. 

“Have you finished?” she said. “If so, perhaps we 
had better ring for the maid to clear away.” 

“Will you have a cigarette?” he said; and at that 
moment he almost regretted the dinner that he had fore- 
gone, the fairy banquet was ending so prosaically. 

Cynthia hesitated; but it was obvious enough that the 
country cousin should not smoke if the character were 
to be properly maintained, so she shook her head, walk- 
ing towards the mirror. “Wait a moment before you 
ring,” she said, and with that she began to coil the two 
plaits round her head; but as she put in the hairpins, 
she could see his reflection also in the mirror, and he 
seemed to be watching her movements with a sort of 
whimsical regret in his expression. 

“Good-bye, Goose-Girl!” he said softly. 

She turned round with her bright hair shining like a 
coronet above her forehead, displaying the fine set of her 
head upon her shoulders. “Good-bye, Pierrot!” she an- 
swered lightly; but there was a wistfulness about those 
faintly smiling lips. Then she went past him with steps 
that grew slower as she approached the stairs. “It has been 
rather fun, hasn^t it ?” she said, looking back at him over 

[40] 


PIERROT AND A POLONY 


her shoulder. “When you are vexed with me afterwards, 
you’ll remember it was fun, won’t you ?” 

And before he could ask her why he should be vexed, 
she had vanished up the stairs. 

He stood at the foot of the staircase, looking up, puzzled 
by the accent of farewell to something happy that could 
never come back again which was in her tone. No woman 
had ever so piqued his curiosity before as this little 
country cousin. There was always a hidden meaning that 
lurked somehow behind her words, smiling at him puckish- 
ly, eluding him. He waited at the foot of the stairs lost 
in thought until Nurse came round the corner with a flick 
of crisp draperies and an unspoken demand for gratitude. 
“If you don’t mind — we have finished now,” he said, 
tactfully showing that he knew clearing away to be a vol- 
untary act of grace on her part. Then, after a remark or 
two about the weather, he went off to the smoke-room 
where there was a gas-fire, an armchair and other appli- 
ances for reflection ; and he reflected there with the door 
open, listening for Cynthia’s footstep. 

At last he heard it, and made himself wait a moment 
or two before leaving his seat to show that he had himself 
well in hand, for a little flicker of self-reproach was spurt- 
ing up in his mind already, now that the fairy-tale atmos- 
phere began to clear. It was becoming increasingly clear 
to him, as he sat in that cold and rather dreary room with 
the bluish, freshly lighted gas roaring in the ugly grate, 
that he had kissed — not a goose-girl in a fairy tale — but a 
little cousin from the country whose simplicity he ought 
to have respected. And yet — was she so simple? He 
went off into speculations again, staring at the row of blue 
flames, until the sound of the front door closing suddenly 

[41] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


ai'oused him. Surely to goodness the girl hadn't gone out. 
She’d think the streets of Mabingstoke as refreshing as a 
country lane at evening, no doubt — but in that get-up, and 
with that face and hair ! Some policeman would be tak- 
ing her for a particularly captivating cook 

He was across the hall as he thus thought, and out in 
the wet street where it had just ceased raining. In front 
of him, casting a long shadow on the gleaming pavement 
as she passed a lamp, he could see Cynthia hurrying along 
as if anxious to escape any possible pursuit. And as she 
was very fleet of foot while he moved stiffly, though he 
was naturally so lithe and slimly built, he had to make an 
effort to come up with her. 

“Stop !” he called from behind. “Where are you hurry- 
ing to ?” 

She stopped short and looked back over her shoulder 
as if she had indeed been pursued and caught against 
her will. “Oh !” she cried, startled. Then she recovered 
herself. “I’m — I’m going for a walk,” she answered. 
“I’m used to fresh air.” 

“So am I,” he said carelessly. “I’ll come with you, if 
I may. Hate walking alone.” 

She turned with a laugh, though she did not really 
feel like laughing. “How can you! You know you 
love it.” 

He laughed too. “Well, I do.” Then he added: “But 
I like walking with an agreeable companion better still.” 

“If that’s polite for me, I am not an agreeable 
walking companion,” she answered. “I walk fast and 
knock into people. Please, I think you had better not 
bother. I can easily find the Station ” She stopped 

[42] 


PIERROT AND A POLONY 


short, for she had not intended to mention the hotel. 
“The railway station, I mean,” she added hastily. 

“I’d rather come,” he persisted. 

Then she stopped dead. “Look here; I don’t wa^it 
to be horrid. You surely don’t think I can’t take care 
of myself, do you?” 

There was a silence. His eyes met hers in the light 
of the street lamp and she could feel herself flushing. 
“Oh, well, I was a goose-girl, then,” she said, answering 
his look. “I never behave like that when I am my 
ordinary self, of course.” She paused. It was intoler- 
able he should think she let any man kiss her who 
chose. “I — I never do do it,” she said. “No other man 
ever has — except one.” 

Immediately he felt an irritated curiosity concerning 
that one who had shared his privilege. Some curate or 
farmer’s son in the village where she had lived ever since 
she grew up, no doubt. How could she have grown to be 
what she was, in such surroundings? But at any rate 
he did not intend to let her wander about a town like 
Mabingstoke alone at night. “Ah !” he answered gravely, 
“as you say, it was the Goose-Girl who let Pierrot touch 
her cheek.” 

She glanced at him sideways. “And both will forget? 
That’s the happy part about Fairyland — ^there are no 
memories.” 

“But Pierrot, poor chap, is only half a fairy,” said 
I Anthony. “That is why he always looks sad beneath 
1 his gaiety. He remembers, but he has to seem as if he 
forgot his fairy friends.” 

“So long as he seems to ” She looked away from 

[43] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


Anthony at a stream of silver made by the lamp on the 
wet road. 

“He has to. He can’t help it,” said Anthony. “Life 
and work have him in thrall, you see. But the other 
half spoils that too. That’s why he is mostly poor.” 

She stood still and held out her hand. “I’m sorry, 
Pierrot. I wish I could make you into a Fairy Prince 
or a successful, fat grocer, but you’ll have to go on being 
mixed. I’m afraid. Now we must say Good-bye.” And 
in spite of the hat with its funereal plumes nodding 
away among the red poppies she had an air of gracious 
dismissal, which made it very difficult for him to force 
himself upon her. However, he was not going to have 
her walking about those streets alone, perhaps even los- 
ing her way. “I’m coming with you to the hotel,” he 
said doggedly. 

“Oh, very well,” said Cynthia in a voice of icy cold- 
ness. 

So they threaded their way almost in silence through 
the streets which grew ever busier as they neared the 
centre of the town in which the railway station and hotel 
were situated. A hundred times Cynthia had it on her 
tongue to tell him the truth and let ' him go, but some 
inner compulsion stopped her before the words were 
actually spoken. She realized by the quickening of her 
pulses that she was afraid — not of angering, but of 
losing him altogether. If he could only have seen more 
of her, and come to like her better, perhaps he would 
have been able to understand how it had all come 
about, for he, too, was one of those who love fun, just 
for the sake of it. But as she glanced at his profile, 
she felt that his loyalty to his own people was as deep 

[44] 


PIERROT AND A POLONY 


as his knowledge of them. He would be even less ready 
to tolerate her foolish joke at their expense than a man 
who was blind to their faults. Though he would see 
her side, and perhaps consider her sudden indignation 
natural, if she told him what Chloe had said, he would 
recede a long way off, just as she had pictured his doing 
earlier in the evening. 

And yet it seemed that he really was planning to marry 
her for her money. By the time she got back to that 
once more, she gave up the problem — or thought she gave 
it up — and allowed him to follow her into the hall of the 
hotel, where a few groups of commercial travellers and 
business men were seated drinking and smoking, and she 
had actually reached the foot of the wide staircase when 
he caught up with her. 

“Where are you going? Whom are you going to see?” 
he demanded, in an urgent whisi>er. 

She looked down at him, frowning, and one or two 
men who knew Anthony well by sight glanced that way, 
but indifferently, for the hat and jacket proved in that 
rather dim light to be an effectual barrier to specula- 
tion. 

“A friend of mine is staying here,” she said at last. 

“What friend can you have here? I shall not allow 
you to go up unless you tell me who it is you are coming to 
see. You can't stay here alone though you may think 
yourself unwelcome at our house. I won't have it.” 

“Her name,” said Cynthia, “is Emma Williamson.” 

“But who is she? Where does she come from? Surely 
it is not somebody you have picked up in the train?” he 
said, so anxiously that the men in the lounge began to 
wonder a little, in spite of the hat. 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


“No. She comes from the same village as myself,” 
said Cynthia, then she continued with a little spurt of 
annoyance. “If I can’t go and see an old friend without 
all this bother, I don’t want to stay at your house. Cousin 
Anthony. Do you keep all your guests on a leash ?” 

“Will you let me see her?” persisted Anthony, un- 
heeding. 

“No.” Cynthia laughed impatiently, but with a secret 
pleasure all the same in his care for her. 

“Then, I shall go and ask for her at the bureau,” he 
said. 

She looked at him, half-grave, half-smiling. “I see I 
have undermined your faith in me. Very well, I will 
see you in the drawing-room in a few minutes, if you will 
go there. In a place like this, it is sure to be deserted.” 

And with that she went up the stairs, leaving him to 
wonder how she knew about drawing-rooms in such hotels 
as these. Could it be instinct? And yet even the keen- 
est instinct surely did not run to things like this 

A man came up to him, forcing him to talk disjointedly 
for a few minutes and then he went up to the drawing- 
room on the first floor, where he sat grimly waiting for 
his charge in company with one old lady wearing a 
peculiar sort of ear-trumpet. Something grotesque about 
it and her added to his sense of the unreality of the whole 
proceeding, and he looked towards the door with an odd 
expectation of seeing something strange, though he knew 
there was no reason for it. 


[46] 


CHAPTER III 


WISE WOMEN CHANGE THEIR MINDS 

Cynthia paused with her hand on the knob of the 
bedroom door and tried to gather her thoughts together 
a little before encountering an injured and ejaculating 
Emma. Her plan of action was clear. She would change 
her things, send Emma down to supper after a sufficient 
explanation of the hat and jacket, and then go into the 
drawing-room to tell Anthony the truth. It would fol- 
low, of course, that he would return home in a rage, and 
her connection with the Walgrove family would come to 
an abrupt and untimely end. 

But she suddenly remembered her godmother’s part 
in the affair. Poor, dear Aunt Harriet, who had cher- 
ished this connection all these years in the remote fast- 
nesses of Northumberland, because it was the last link 
^e preserved with that youth of hers whidh now seemed 
to have been all sunshine and happiness. She had loved 
those letters and cards at Christmas mentioning names 
that meant nothing to her in this generation, but the 
mere spelling of which was like hearing news from th^ 
country of her youth. 

Cynthia felt that moment as sad and angry with herself 
as any enemy could have wished, but Emma’s cough 
behind the door roused her to the necessity for going in- 
side, and as a gay carel^SiinesS seemed the only wear, she 

[47] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


assumed it. “Well, Emma ? Don’t you like my new cos- 
tume ?” 

“Goodness!” squeaked Emma: then — “Miss Cynthia! 
You’ve never been and had dinner at a gentleman’s house 
in that ! Why didn’t you come here and change or send 
for me to come to you? What your poor, dear god- 
mother ” 

“Godmother would rather I looked ugly than caught 
my death of cold,” said Cynthia briskly. “I stayed be- 
cause — ^because it was difficult to get away.” 

“Then are you going back to-night, or what. Miss.?’' 
said Emma, folding her hands, drawing down the comers 
of her mouth and assuming the character dictated by 
Mrs. Rayburn — ^that of obediently respectful maid. 

“I shall stay ” began Cynthia; when the queerest 

thing happened. Her tongue would not say the words she 
first intended and substituted instead: “I shall stay with 
Mr. and Mrs. Walgrove just for to-night. You had 
better remain here, because I expect I shall leave Mabing- 
stoke in the morning.” 

Emma could not get used to the fact that Cynthia was 
her mistress, and not her charge in the nursery : she was 
also wanting her supper and had endured a certain 
amount of annoyance and uncertainty, so she said sourly : 
“I suppose I had better pack your bag then. What will 
you wear now?” 

“M'y blue,” began Cynthia, when she suddenly remem- 
bered. “No, that won’t do. The old tweed I wear for 
tramping about in on wet days.” 

“That? To-night?” began Emma; but after a glance 
at Cynthia she resigned herself to doing as she was told. 
After all, if worse came of such a system, Mrs. Rayburn 

[48] 


WISE WOMEN CHANGE THEIR MINDS 


had only herself to blame. "‘I am sure your aunt would 
be grieved to think of you going out of an evening in such 
a costume, Miss Cynthia,” she added. 

“And a plain silk shirt,” continued Cynthia. “Hurry 
up, please, Emma. I only want my suit-case with a few 
things for the night.” 

As she hurriedly changed her outer garments she told 
herself that she was going back simply because it was 
cowardly not to tell Mr. and Mrs. Walgrove the truth, 
face to face, after the way in which she had treated them. 
But there was Anthony waiting to see Emma in the draw- 
ing-room so as to make sure of that austere virgin's 
respectability. How was she to explain. 

“Emma,” she said, “young Mr. Walgrove is downstairs. 
He wants to see you.” 

“To see me?” said Emma, turning round from the bag 
over which she was bending. “What does he want to see 
me for. Miss?” 

Cynthia’s brain worked quickly, but she could not think 
of any convincing reason that could be conveniently given 
to her handmaid. “Oh, I think — ^he just wants to be 
pleasant,” she faltered. 

Emma pinched her lips together. “I don’t doubt the 
young gentleman wants to be pleasant to anybody be- 
longing to you. Miss,” she said. “Lots of young gentle- 
men find that worth their while.” 

“I think it very nice of him,” said Cynthia rather 
sharply, for she felt a prick somewhere within her at this 
outride recognition of the possibility which Chloe’s in- 
discretion had brought so crudely before her as soon as 
she entered the Walgroves’ house. 

“V"ery nice indeed. Miss,” agreed Emma with a meek- 

[49l 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


ness aggravatingly at variance with her expression, and 
yet impossible to rebuke. 

“And, Emma — we need not say an)rthing about your 
being my maid. You are just my companion, you under- 
stand?” 

“But why? I aren't ashamed of being your maid,” said 
Emma. 

“I know,” said Cynthia. “But I ” She seized the 

first rather futile explanation, “I do think it is time these 
silly social distinctions were done away with, don't you? 
Trend of the times and so on. I hate all that sort of 
snobbishness.” 

“That's as it may be,” responded Emma. “What I 
can't see is, why you are starting with me to-night. I 
know it's not my place to say anything, but '' 

“Don't,” said Cynthia. 

“Don't what, Miss?” said Emma. 

“Don't ‘but' ! It is such a horrid verb when you make 
it into one, Emma,” said Cynthia. 

“It’s all very well joking about verbs, M’iss Cynthia,” 
said Emma, “but I have Mrs. Rayburn to consider. She 
trusts me to look after you, in a manner of speaking, and I 
can't see my way to pretending I'm your lady-companion 
when I aren’t. I never was one for pretending, and I 
aren't going to start now.” 

“Dear old Emma,” smiled Cynthia beguilingly. “It's 
never too late to learn, you know.” 

But Emma was not beguiled. “Well, I can't do any- 
thing, of course. I can only say what I think.” 

“Only not to young Mr. Walgrove?” pleaded Cynthia. 
“I swear on my honour there is nothing wrong about it. 
It is only a joke.” 

[50] 


WISE WOMEN CHANGE THEIR MINDS 


“If you’ll excuse me, Miss,” said Emma, “your jokes 
will land you in Queer Street one of these days. Then 
you’ll he sorry.” 

“I am now,” said Cynthia eagerly. “Oh, I am now. 
I only want to make things come right — at least, as right 
as they can come. Please, please do what I want this last 
time, Emma!” 

“I heard that before, when you pulled the parrot’s tail 
out and tried to put it back again ten years ago, and lots of 
times since,” replied Emma. “But of course, if I have 
your orders to look like your lady-companion — your god- 
mother said I must remember I was your maid and not 
your nurse now, and she must take the consequences. 
Only, no lie passes my lips. You quite understand that. 
Miss Cynthia?” 

“Yes I Yes I Oh, Emma, by the way ” She paused 

half-way across the room and glanced back over her 
shoulder. “There is that grey crepe de Chine of mine. I 
shall not want it again. You can take it.” 

“But it is nearly new,” protested Emma. 

“Oh, I don’t fancy it, somehow,” said Cynthia, going 
out into the corridor. 

Now she had not the exact intention of bribing Emma 
to be complaisant during the approaching interview, but 
her experience of how much in life can be bought, un- 
doubtedly influenced her in bestowing the gift at that 
moment ; and Emma was a conscientious woman, thinking 
herself above accepting a bribe — ^but she belonged to a 
family of married sisters who were a little inclined to 
speak of “Poor Emma!” So she longed to appear at a 
niece’s forthcoming wedding in a gown of such modern 
cut and fine material that pity would be altogether out of 

[51] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


the question. Thus did the sunshine of wealth once more 
cast the inevitable shadow. 

As Cynthia and her companion entered the hotel draw- 
ing-room with its bleak Chippendale and air of cold 
desolation, Anthony swung round from the window where 
he was standing and came towards them. He looked 
grave — rather annoyed at his period of waiting which 
had extended to half an hour — not in the very least like 
playing Pierrot to a Goose-Girl. And Cynthia suddenly 
felt nervous, rather as if she were confronted by a 
Stranger on whose hat she had gaily thrown a pebble from 
an upper window, thinking him to be a friend. 

‘'Oh, Mr. Walgrove, I think you and Miss Williamson 
have not met before.” Whereupon they exchanged greet- 
ings, Emma adding stiffly — influenced unconsciously by 
the grey crepe de Chine : “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.” 

“I think we ought to be getting back,” said Anthony, 
taking out his watch. “If Miss Williamson will excuse 
us? My mother will be back from the theatre soon and 
she will naturally wonder where we are.” 

Cynthia turned to Emma. “My bag has gone down 
to the taxi, hasn’t it ?” 

«Yes, M ” She checked the “Miss.” “Some min- 

utes since.” 

“Then you have found your luggage?” said Anthony. 
“Where was it ?” 

“I had it in charge,” said Emma, after a pause. 

Cynthia’s readiness had deserted her. A blank dis- 
appointment swept chillily across her mood and all her 
gay pretences seemed frozen. Her one wish was that 
she had not allowed Emma to come down with her, then 
she would have told the truth and cut herself adrift from 

[52] 


WISE WOMEN CHANGE THEIR MINDS 


him and his family for ever at once. It might be 
cowardly, but it would at any rate have been better than 
this. The blood rushed up to her cheeks at her next 
thought: “Why not send Emma away and get it over?” 

Then she saw his deep eyes under their heavy lids 
fixed on her face, and his gaze was no longer coldly 
aloof, but whimsically kind — as it had been when they 
sat at the little table before the pink polony. And she 
felt once more that she must choose the right time to 
tell him of the ridiculous trick she had played, so that 
she need not lose his friendship altogether. Meanwhile 
Emma folded her hands and looked down her nose in 
mute disapprobation. 

“Well, we’d better be off,” Cynthia said abruptly, 
feeling that if she stayed longer Emma’s attitude would 
end in stifling every sensation but a desire for bed and 
safety. “Good-bye, Miss Williamson. See you to-mor- 
row, of course.” 

She flitted away down the wide stairs, followed by 
Anthony. “Your friend seems rather reserved,” he said. 

“North-country^ you know,” said Cynthia. 

And they went through the lounge, regarded with in- 
terest by the men who would not fail to see the change 
in her appearance, even though her coat and skirt and 
hat were of the plainest. 

Anthony himself — who knew as little about women’s 
clothes as a man could do with a couple of sisters — ^was 
struck by the light grace of her figure: and he vaguely 
wondered why, possessing these garments, she 'had elected 
to wear those in which she had first arrived. Still he 
regretted the queer costume all the same, and only in the 
dimness of the rather dingy cab did he begin to find again 

[53] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


the girl who had stirred his emotions and his sense of fun 
earlier in the evening. But once or twice the ten<ier 
roundness of her cheek as they passed a street light, or 
some cadence in her voice, made the whole scene live 
again in his imagination. She, too, was silent, and that 
allowed nature’s work to go on unchecked 'by any dis- 
cfey for he could feel a touch of her shoulder against 
his 'krm as the vehicle swayed, and there was a very 
slight fragrance when she came close. He could not 
make out what it was, but it seemed more like a fresh 
smell brought from fields and hedges than anything 
bought in a bottle. 

Slowly, the irritation and faint mistrust of her which 
had grown up in his mind while he was in the hotel, 
died down. 

“I wonder ” he began. 

“Oh, I don’t know how ” 

But they spoke together ; and so Cynthia had to brace 
herself afresh for the effort she had been trying to make 
ever since they entered the cab. He peered at her 
troubled face and took her hand. 

“What is it? Don’t you think you are going to like 
being with us, little cousin?” 

She bit her lip to keep the ridiculous tears back : she, 
who scarcely ever cried, even when it seemed the right 
thing ! Why did he make it so hard ? And how had he 
turned her into such a coward that she could not speak 
out the truth bravely? She had ever done so, after the 
worst of her past follies, sure in her heart that she would 
be forgiven because of her gaiety and kindness— -and also 
because she was rich — ^though she did not know that she 
thought of that. For after all, he had let his family plan 

[54] 


WISE WOMEN CHANGE THEIR MINDS 


to marry him to the poor goose with the golden eggs, 
though he had first given her the name contemptuously. 
Thus she veered round again, saying to herself that she 
didn’t care what he thought : it was only because she had 
let the thing go too far for once that she minded con- 
fessing. Nothing to do with Anthony himself. 

But, against all reason, his name pulled at her heart- 
strings even as she thought it. She explained to herself 
that the cab was not the place for telling. How could 
she begin. *‘My dear Mr. Walgrove, I regret to say you 
are the victim of a little practical joke. Please forgive 
me. I am really Cynthia Rayburn!” Though it had 
seemed quite possible as she walked out of the hotel. 

The fact was, that her faith in the power of that an- 
nouncement was waning. Contact with Emma and the 
old life had restored it for a little while, but she began 
to feel sure that though Anthony might want her money 
he would not let his judgment be influenced by the fact 
that she possessed it. Perhaps the hall would be the best 
place, just where they had sat at supper before they came 
out. Again she felt a sudden impulse to get it over. 

‘T don’t know how to tell you ” she began hur- 

riedly, once more. 

''Ah, here we are I” he said, as the cab stopped with a 
jerk. 

He gathered up the bag and long coat which Emma had 
caused to be placed on the opposite seat, and paid the 
cabman, then gave the coat into Cynthia’s hands while 
he found his latchkey. "I wonder if they are in yet,” 
he said as he unlocked the door. 

Cynthia did not answer, feeling a little breathless still 

[55] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


from the recoil of that interrupted confession, and she 
was greatly relieved to find the hall empty. 

As he switched on the light and said cheerfully : ‘‘Come 
to the fire. Blessing I stoked up well before we went,” 
he turned round and noticed that she looked very tired. 
“I say, I should get of! to bed before they come home. 
You are quite done up with your journey.” For he 
imagined the railway travelling had wearied the poor 
child quite unused to it and suddenly remembered that 
she was supposed to be in poor health. “I’ll bring a 
glass of hot milk to your door in a few minutes. I 
daren’t ask Nurse.” And he laughed, rubbing his hands. 

She stood holding the comer of the mantelpiece. Now 
he mentioned it, she did feel absolutely worn out, while 
her shoulder had begun to ache badly from the motor 
accident earlier in the day. She simply could not try 
to make the best of a silly escapade to those rather critical 
and inimical women when she was feeling as she did 
now. A night’s rest would make all the difference. It 
would be easy enough in the morning. So her mind went 
up and down in a see-saw fashion most unlike her usual 
clear decisiveness. 

As she looked at the clock, she saw a yellow envelope 
addressed to Miss Nellie Walgrove propped up against 
it, but her glance passed on indifferently, for that mat- 
tered nothing to her. Then Anthony saw it and gave it 
to her. “Must have come just after we went out. Ex- 
pect they want to know if you are lost on the way.” 

“Oh ! but it is not ” she began, looking down at the 

telegram; when suddenly her face crimsoned. This set- 
tled matters. Now she must tell him, tired or not tired. 
“I can’t open a telegram that does ” she began. 

[56] 


WISE WOMEN CHANGE THEIR MINDS 


“There they are 1” he said warningly. “If you want to 
go, now's your time. Run!" 

“Then you'll ask them to excuse me ?" she murmured, 
and was away up the stairs with the telegram still in her 
hand before the door opened. 

For, after all, she had found herself utterly unable to 
face the conjectures and surprises of the Walgrove family 
until she Iiad had a night's rest. Her head ached as well 
as her shoulder, and emotions which she had not ex- 
perienced before were stirring beneath the surface of 
her thoughts, confusing her judgment. She had an over- 
whelming instinct to get away into some place alone where 
she could put her mind in order before meeting those 
women, lest they should see something not visible to herself 
which she yet knew she wished to hide. A jumble of 
thoughts and emotions which she could not disentangle 
seemed to pursue her as she flung to her door and locked 
it against the world. 

She found the room in darkness and slipped the tele- 
gram in her pocket while she felt for the switch near 
the door. Nothing in her indulged and sheltered life had 
prepared her for what she was feeling now, because her 
utter physical weariness combined with happiness and 
unhappiness — so queerly mingled she could not disen- 
tangle them — ^to confuse all her thoughts. 

Then she heard a light knock on the door. “Cousin 
Nellie! Here is your milk. I have put it down on the 
mat. Mind you don't knock it over!" 

“Oh, thank you." 

“Good-night!" And there followed the sound of re- 
treating footsteps. 

She took in the milk and sat down on the edge of her 

[57] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


bed, sipping it slowly. Soon a little of her fatigue 
was banished by the stimulating properties of the hot 
drink, and she held the glass between her two chilly 
hands, looking down at it with a little smile just curving 
her lips. What a good playfellow he was — and yet he 
could be so kind to a girl when they had finished playing. 
Anthony — that was a nice name, too. How clearly his 
profile had shown against the wall. . . . She felt the 
glass slipping and knew she had nearly fallen asleep as 
she sat there with it in her hands. 

Some time later just before getting into bed, she re- 
membered her handkerchief and groped for it sleepily in 
the pocket of her tweed skirt: then, suddenly, she was 
all alert and wide-awake again. Goodness! The tele- 
gram ! 

The address, “Miss Nellie Walgrove,” stared her in 
the face as she stood there, hesitating whether to open 
the envelope or not. She would much rather have left 
it until morning, but after all a telegram was more or 
less a public communication that any one might read, and 
perhaps this concerned a matter of urgency which ought 
to be dealt with at once. She was half inclined to go 
out into the silent house and wake up some member 
of the family, but being by no means certain yet of the 
position of the different rooms, she feared to intrude on 
the slumbers of Mr. and Mrs. Walgrove. 

As she stood hesitating thus, the clock on the corridor 
outside struck eleven. It was not nearly so late as she 
had thought and she unfastened her door with a sudden 
determination to go down, then heard voices — ^the sound 
of footsteps on the stairs. A sudden, irresistible recoil 
made her close the door smartly and stand behind it, 

[58] 


WISE WOMEN CHANGE THEIR MINDS 

panting a little, as if she had run a race and had bcven 
nearly caught. No ; she neither could nor would start all 
the inevitable wonderings and discussions that must follow 
giving up the telegram, unless it were really necessary, 
at that time of night. Her fingers shook a little with cold 
and excitement as she tore open the envelope. If any- 
thing serious had happened, she must of course go at 
once to Mrs. Walgrove and tell her ridiculous tale, but 
without the spirit to carry it off decently. No one was 
dead: nothing serious had happened: the unpunctuated 
words danced a little before her eyes, but cheerfully : 

'‘Arrive 11.10 to-morrow love and kisses John/" 

Well, to-morrow might take care of itself! In the 
meantime she could get into bed at last and sleep — and 

sleep — and sleep Never in her life had she felt 

so sleepy, that she could remember. Almost before sh? 
had touched the pillow, she was off; but a little smile 
lingered about her mouth still, because of those silly 
words in the telegram. Love and kisses John. How 
ridiculous ! Love — and — ^kisses 

She was fast asleep. 


[ 59 ] 


CHAPTER IV ' 


LOVE — AND — KISSES — JOH N 

Illegitimate fun at night is usually purchased at a price 
which mortals begin to pay first thing next morning. But 
Cynthia formed an exception to this rule; for however 
foolish she had been the night before, she always felt 
as gay as a lark when she arose — sure that everybody in 
this jolly, waking world would yet laugh with her, and 
say it was only Cynthia. Experience had taught her 
to expect this, because her indulgent godmother and her 
friends, and the elderly neighbors in the village, always 
did adopt that attitude. Some might, and indeed did, 
feel a secret annoyance at times ; but she was so very gen- 
erous with all she had, and so friendly, and above all 
so sure of everybody’s approval, that this annoyance was 
hardly ever made manifest. 

She hummed a little tune, therefore, as she dressed, and 
scarcely troubled to plan in what words she should make 
her avowal. For so much of a “next morning” attitude 
the night’s rest had brought, that she was aware of the 
necessity for declaring herself with no possible delay. Up 
to this it would pass as a joke; but to prolong it 
further would create a situation altogether too compromis- 
ing and serious. She had had her fun out of the 
Walgrove family — which they well deserved, considering 
that they had planned to get her and her money for 

[6o] 


LOVE— AND— KISSES— JOHN 


Anthony. Of course, she had let the family down in the 
presence of the great Mrs. Robinson, but set that against 
the goose with the golden eggs, and she fancied they were 
about quits, with the balance, if anything, on the 
Walgroves’ side. 

She was doing her hair as these reflections passed 
through her mind and suddenly paused with a bright strand 
poised. Could Anthony have lent himself to such a mer- 
cenary plot? Was it really possible? Eyes — eager 
and shining — questioned her own from the glass. Then 
she dropped her eyelids and the red crept into her round 
cheeks as she remembered his kiss when they were playing 
at Pierrot and the Goose-iGirl. No! No! He was not 
like that. 

But he must have allowed Mrs. Walgrove and the girls 
to talk of the idea in his hearing. He could not have 
given it the scornful and emphatic denial which an honour- 
able man ought to have done. She was finishing her 
hair-dressing now, so again her eyes — wide open and per- 
turbed — still asked questions of the mirror; then a little 
subdued from the first high inoming gaiety, she went 
on with her toilette. 

Downstairs the party round the breakfast table had 
almost finished breakfast, for Nurse, in her capacity of 
temporary housemaid, had omitted to take Cynthia’s hot 
water. Mr. Walgrove was glancing at the paper with the 
pair of horn-rimmed spectacles on his handsome nose, 
which the outer world never saw there ; Anthony ate with 
an eye on the clock ; Feo picked listlessly at a piece of toast 
and Marjorie enjoyed her breakfast, while Mrs. Walgrove 
consumed a good deal without enjoying it, despite her 

[6i] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


thin figure. They were in the midst of an argument con- 
cerning their guest. 

‘Tf you ask me,” said Mr. Walgrove looking with bold 
blue eyes, a little faded now, over his spectacles, 
“Anthony’s suggestion to take Nellie to this Fancy Dress 
Dance is simply ridiculous. At any rate, don’t expect me 
to find the girl partners.” 

“And Cynthia Rayburn may turn up to-day,” added 
Feo. “Then we shall not have a ticket to spare,” 

“Very casual of her to disappoint us without sending 
word,” said Mrs. Walgrove. 

“Oh, Mother, everybody is casual nowadays — especially 
girls with lots of money,” said Marjorie. 

“If Miss Rayburn does come, I will get another ticket,” 
said Anthony. 

“But what is she to wear ?” objected Feo. 

“So far as that goes,” said Marjorie, with an amused 
glance at her brother, “there is the peasant’s dress I wore 
ages ago at a bazaar. She could have it, if she liked.” 

“Well, on the understanding that we are not supposed 

to bother with her ” said Feo. Then she gave a 

little laugh: “Poor old Anthony! Always a tender spot 
for the under-dog.” 

Mr. Walgrove looked up with a slight sneer on his 
face — for he suffered from that perverted vanity which 
makes such a man unconsciously jealous of his own 
son’s youth and unused chances. “A trait sometimes more 
correctly called a taste for the society of one’s inferiors,” 
he said. “I myself, have made it a rule in life never to 
cultivate any one who is not better than myself.” What 
he meant was “better off than myself” : but the fine sound 

[62] 


LOVE— AND— KISSES— JOHN 


of his words produced a little glow of paternal self- 
righteousness within him. 

“Of course, nobody can choose their relations, said 
Mrs. Walgrove, “but it does seem a pity that yours are 
so — so obtrusive.” For she managed to retain a position 
of ascendancy over her husband by some such occasional 
cracking of the Vinder whip, which enabled them to 
live comfortably together in spite of his rather florid but 
meaningless attentions to other ladies. 

“Our cousin certainly did surpass everything at tea 
yesterday,” said Marjorie. “I began to wonder if she 
were quite all there.” 

“Oh, you’ll find her quiet enough to-day, I daresay,” 
answered Feo rising. “She was nervous and excited; 
and that makes ill-bred people, unused to Society, either 
dumb or garrulous. She was probably as much sur- 
prised at her own behaviour afterwards, as we were at 
the time.” 

“That may account began Mrs. Walgrove. 

Then the door opened to admit the unwelcome guest, 
who entered with a light step and a pleasant greeting. 

But almost instantly she became aware of three pairs 
of eyes fixed on her blouse and skirt, for at first glance 
the ladies of the Walgrove family could take in nothing 
but her changed sartorial appearance. Why — if the 
idiotic girl did possess a decent blouse and skirt — had she 
come arrayed like a cook in a comedy? They left the 
problem for the moment to attend to Cynthia’s needs at 
the table, and it was considered a further sign of her 
ill-breeding that she took the one sacred egg with which 
Mr. Walgrove always finished his breakfast, and began 
at once to consume it in silence. 


[63] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


But no one could know that the eating of that egg was 
an exciting game of chance which Cynthia was playing 
with herself. If she reached the last spoonful before 
Anthony went out, he would still be there to hear her 
announcement that she was Cynthia Rayburn; if not, 
she would only have the others to conciliate — ^and in this 
morning’s mood that seemed not very difficult, after all. 
She ate steadily, determined to play fair, but somehow 
the atmosphere round that breakfast table — an atmos- 
phere cooled for the breathing of a tiresome and ill- 
mannered poor relation — began to act on her nerves, and 
destroy her careless gaiety, while her fleeting glances 
at Anthony showed him quite different this morning from 
what he had appeared to be on the previous night. She 
felt an intuitive certainty that no one at the table had 
seen that other Anthony excepting herself. It was an 
odd thought and a little thrilling — ^to feel she sat there 
mum-chance, knowing more about him than his own 
mother and father and sisters. She glanced again at his 
rather grave and self-contained face as he gathered his 
letters together, and with a sudden vague unhappiness 
became certain that she would never see the playfellow of 
the previous night any more, though this young man 
might come home to dinner and find her still there. 

Only two spoonfuls left. Her heart thudded as the 
words formed in her brain ready to come forth. “I 
hope you won’t be too vexed with me ” One spoon- 

ful. It would have to come now. She must play fair, 
hope ” 

Then, across her words, Anthony pushing back his 
chair and smiling at her. . . . “You’ll save the first dance 
for me to-night. Cousin Nellie?” 

[64] 


LOVE— AND— KISSES— JOHN 


''Are — are we going to a dance?” she stammered 
nervously. 

But it was Mrs. Walgrove who explained and she 
managed to make her husband understand that he ought 
to be very grateful indeed for the way in which she 
behaved to his unpresentable connections. And Anthony 
was passing Cynthia’s chair on his way out of the house 
by the time his mother concluded handsomely with the 
offer of a peasant’s costume, when he paused to add : "The 
very thing, of course, Nellie. You must take a stick in 
your hand and wear your hair in two long plaits. Then 
you can call yourself a Goose-Girl,” he said. 

Cynthia sat quiet, her mind in a turmoil, and as she 
did not reply, he touched her shoulder. "Come, Goose- 
Girl, why so shy?” he said. "We’ll have great fun at 
the party.” 

She caught her breath, biting her lip. Should she? 
Should she not ? Then swung round towards him, flushed 
and smiling, her wide eyes all alight. "All right. I’ll 
come!” she said, and immediately she felt a glow of 
happiness run through her veins. She was not saying 
farewell to her playfellow, after all. They would have 
another evening’s fun together, come what might; then 
when it was all over, she would tell him her story and 
he would disappear for ever, though he seemed to be still 
near her. Already she knew enough of him to feel sure 
that he would be away in a flash to some inaccessible 
place whence he could not come back, even if he wanted 
to. The shyness of a spirit that no gold could ever tempt 
into a cage belonged to that Anthony ; and some part of 
herself which in spite of her open frankness had always 
fled away from a near approach, made her understand 

[65] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


this, though she could not sort it out and put it into exact 
words. She, too — the Cynthia who had sat the night 
before by the little square table — would go away some- 
where and never come back, once this fancy-dress dance 
was over. The tricksy, fleeting, chuckling impression of 
the whole was heightened by the very name he had given 
her, hitting by accident, as it did, upon the cause of that 
spirit of mischievous anger that had impelled her to play 
a practical joke upon the Walgrove family. 

The front door clo-sed; Mr. Walgrove took his papers 
to the fireside, and Marjorie went upstairs to imearth 
the peasant's dress. Mrs. Walgrove paused on her way out 
to say to her husband : ‘T shall certainly wire Mrs. Ray- 
burn if Cynthia does not turn up some time during the 
day," and so retired to her housekeeping : and immediately 
. ^ new problem ousted the Goose-Girl's shining dreams. 

^Dh,^ Cousin Nellie,” said Feo carelessly, ‘‘Nurse is 
busy and we are lunching out to-day. I wonder if you 
would take care of Chloe for the morning?” 

Cynthia started, roused from the contemplation of the 
fresh problem presented by Mrs. Walgrove's words, but 
something in Feo's tone reminded her that a country 
cousin — who was also a nursery governess out of a job — 
would naturally be expected to perform such a duty 
without question. So she gave a reluctant assent, seeing 
quite well that her momentary hesitation had already 
made Feo set her down as “disobliging,” and she realized, 
with a rather uncomfortable sense of new doons con- 
stantly opening in her mind, how hideously “obliging” 
some people had to be all their lives. 

“Chloe will be ready at ten,” concluded Feo, going out 
of the room. 

[ 66 ] 


LOVE— AND—KISSES— JOHN 


Cynthia sat down on a chair near the fire and at once 
became engrossed in trying to solve her two most press- 
ing problems: firstly, how to prevent the Walgroves 
from communicating with Mrs. Rayburn; and secondly, 
how to keep Emma quiet for another twenty-four hours 
at the Station Hotel. After a few moments’ intense con- 
centration, she recalled a stratagem which a friend of 
hers in York had employed on a certain romantic occasion 
a year ago. She had not approved it at the time, but 
desperate people could not be choosers, and she decided 
to ring up this friend from the hotel as soon as possible. 
Emma could be dealt with at the same time. So far, 
so good. She glanced up at the clock and a third and 
more urgent problem flashed into her mind. ‘‘11.10. 
Love — and — kisses — John !” 

It was obvious that she must go and meet that train, 
otherwise the sender of the wire would either come up 
to the house in search of his dear, or take the huff so 
that two loving hearts were estranged for ever. Love- 
and-kisses-John somehow sounded just the sort to retire 
and sulk in obstinate silence until poor Cousin Nellie 
grew faded and some mature spinster married him. Of 
course, Cynthia had no choice ; she saw that quite clearly. 
But what she was to say to him when she did get to the 
station, must be left for the moment to decide. 

Suddenly she remembered Chloe. What on earth could 
she do with that observant young person while she car- 
ried out her programme? Things seemed to fit in so 
easily for girls in novels when they were pretending to be 
somebody else. One after another events always fell 
out pat, making a neat pattern like a kaleidoscope every 
time, no matter how quick and fierce the upheaval. And 

[67] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


here was she — with so much to set straight in one morn- 
ing — ^burdened in addition with two such people as Chloe 
and Emma. At any moment now, that ever-faithful 
handmaid might be ringing up for news. 

Cynthia glanced at Mr. Walgrove, who sat self-suffi- 
cient on the most comfortable chair, long legs stretched 
out across the fire, not bothering to address her. And 
this slight on the absent poor relation oddly enough 
stirred the sense of mischief in her again, raising her 
spirits and making her feel no longer doubtful or self- 
reproachful but glad she was making fun of such a 
party. And she now viewed her day in the light of an ex- 
citing game of chance, in which she, Cynthia, was pitted 
against all this old lot; and the prize another evening 
with Anthony — the Anthony whom they did not know 
while she did. . . . 

“H-hem, Cousin Walgrove!” She coughed humbly, 
as she thought a humble dependent should. “How long 
does it take to walk from here to the station?” 

He looked up, faintly surprised at being interrupted 
in his newspaper reading. “Oh! About half an hour. 
Going to see about the rest of your luggage?” he said. 
“Sure to turn up all right.” And he returned to his paper 
at once, for he naturally felt annoyed with Cynthia. She 
had behaved in a manner that placed him in the wrong 
position with his wife and family, and he intended to be 
civil while she remained under his roof, but no more. 

Cynthia again thought how queer it must be when 
people were constantly treating you like that — ^but the 
reflection was only momentary, because her first pre- 
occupation was the time. Impossible to do all she had 
to do, unless she and Chloe started at once. So going 

[ 68 ] 


LOVE— AND— KISSES— JOHN 

quickly out of the room, she ran upstairs, tingling with 
excitement and hurry, feeling the sort of bubbling, in- 
describable sensation inside of her which had accompanied 
her in the days of her early youth, when she was off to 
bathe in the river, or visit the gypsies in the field at the 
end of Glead Lane, or do anything deliciously contra- 
band. For two or three years past now, that sensation 
had remained more or less dormant, and she had thought 
it a happiness of the past, like her once extreme partiality 
for monkey-nuts. How perfectly lovely to find it alive 
and active as ever! 

Engrossed in these emotions she was very soon hurry- 
ing the reluctant Ohloe along those greasy pavements 
which never seemed to grow really dry during the winter 
in Mabingstoke, when suddenly the child stopped dead 
and whimpered out: “Cousin Nellie! My shoe hurts! I 
can't go any further. I want to go back home.” 

Cynthia gave a hasty glance at her watch. “You can't 
go home, Chloe,'' she said firmly. “There is not time. 
Here, don't cry ! We'll get a cab.'' 

“But I can't walk so far as the cab-stand. There are 
no cabs until you get there and it is ever so far. I want 
to go home,'' bleated Chloe, wagging a doleful hand at a 
butcher in a cart who saluted familiarly in return. “He 
knows Nurse,'' she explained tearfully. “Oh, dear, my 
foot does hurt.” And she burst out afresh : “Take me 
home. I want to go home!” 

“Knows Nurse!” In a flash Cynthia was across the 
road and addressing the butcher. “Can you drive us to 
the station? It's most urgent. Terribly urgent. I’ll give 
you a pound, if you will.'’ And she held out the note 
toward him. 


[69] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


He looked down at her from his high seat, red and 
puzzled. ‘‘A pound? Are you the new nurse? What^s 
your hurry?” 

Then Chloe piped up from behind ‘‘She’s not a nurse 
— she’s a sort of relation.” 

“Do take us,” pleaded Cynthia, smiling at him anxious- 
ly, still holding out the note. 

He gave his head a meditative scratch, “I don’t 
know ” 

“Please,” urged Cynthia. “Miss Chloe has hurt her 
foot. I shall miss a most important appointment at the 
railway station. It’s — it’s an appointment with a gentle- 
man from a distance.” 

“Ah!” said the butcher, grinning down at them both. 
“So that accounts for the milk in the coco-nut, eh? 
Well, I’m not one to leave a lady in a fix. Jump up, and 
I’ll chance it.” 

Cynthia’s smile and flush of gratitude caused the 
butcher to set his hat more jauntily than ever, Cynthia 
hoisted Chloe into the cart, and all three squeezed to- 
gether on the little seat. The next minute they were 
careering gaily through the streets of Mabingstoke, the 
butcher naturally becoming rather gallant as they bowled 
along behind the strong pony. “Can’t refuse a lady 
anything, you know: never could. Always getting into 
trouble for letting the pretty ones have more liver and 
kidneys than what I ought. Suppose it’s how I’m made. 
Hope you’ll be in time. Miss, I’m sure, for the sake of 
them you’re going to meet.” 

But once Chloe interrupted his flow of gallantry by 
squeaking out: “Oh! There’s Mrs. Robinson! She will 
be shocked to see you in a butcher’s cart. Cousin Nellie. 

[70] 


LOVE— ANI>-KISSES— JOHN 


If she thought you were rather a funny person yesterday, 
what will she think now ?” 

“Who cares?” retorted Cynthia, with what Chloe felt 
to be an awful recklessness, and as they dashed up to 
the station gates, she added with a little wave of the 
hand : “Mutton for ever !” simply because she was no less 
intoxicated than Chloe by their hairbreadth escapes and 
rapid progress through the cheerful morning bustle of 
the streets. 

“Get down as quick as you can,” said the butcher, his 
own exhilaration beginning to die down as he thought of 
the meat to be delivered at the other end of town before 
mid-day. And a little later it was only the note still 
nestling in his waistcoat pocket which proved to him that 
this was all real and not a sort of agreeable nightmare. 

Cynthia hurried her limping charge into the Station 
Hotel, gave hasty explanations to Emma, whose mouth 
was down at the corners again, and tried to escape: but 
that was not yet to be. 

‘‘Miss C ” 

“Hush !” hissed Cynthia, glancing at Chloe. 

With temper not improved by this interruption, Emma 
began again : “Fm sorry to disoblige, but I can’t remain 
here. I can see the people in the hotel begin to think there 
is something doubtful about me.” 

“They couldn’t, Emma,” assured Cynthia. ”No one 
ever could !” And her love of fun once more getting the 
better of her judgment she added with a chuckle: “The 
expression you have on now, Emma, would take you safely 
through anything. I do believe it is the very one that Una 
wore.” 

“I don’t know who Una may be,” retorted Emma, her 

[71] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


attention distracted by Chloe. ‘‘But I v/ill say that I never 
wore any cast-offs that weren’t given to me by you and 
you ought to know it.” 

Cynthia put a hand on Emma’s arm. ‘‘Dear old Emma, 
it was only my joke. See to this child’s shoe and take 
care of her for half an hour and I swear I’ll be as serious 
as ever you like. But if I stay talking here one more 
minute, I’m done.” 

Emma silently handed Chloe a chair and allowed it to 
be perceived that she would do her best: so Cynthia 
whisked away down to the telephone box and put in a 
trunk call. In this operation fortune at last favoured 
her, for almost immediately the bell rang and she was 
put in communication with a certain Julia Payne, the 
daughter of a cathedral dignitary in York. 

* “Julia,” she said breathlessly, “no time to explain. 
Awful fix! Have you got a pencil? I want you to wire 
immediately to — ^now, take it down carefully — ^to Mrs. 
Walgrove, 16 St. Wilfred’s Mansions, Mabingstoke. Have 
you got it? Now, the telegram: 

**Sorry cannot come to-day, will wire again . — Cynthia 
Rayburn. 

Remonstrances evidently followed, for Cynthia burst 
forth impatiently: “Yes! Yes! I know I’m staying here, 
of course, but I want the wire sent from York all the 

same. Not the first time you have Oh ! for Heaven’s 

sake do it, and wait for the explanation till later. No: 
there is not a man in it — ^at least — Julia, you know I’ve 
always stood by you. Thanks, old girl. Oh, nothing of 
that sort. Only a sort of joke. Yes; know I’m an 
idiot, always was — can’t help it! Good-bye.” 

Cynthia turned round from the telephone, flushed but 

[72] 


LOVE— AND— KISSES— JOHN 


beaming. So that was all right. No fear of Mrs. Wal- 
grove appealing to Mrs. Rayburn for information to-day, 
at any rate : and to-morrow might take care of itself. The 
next thing — she glanced hastily at the hall clock as she 
hurried through — the next thing was to dispose of Love- 
and-kisses-John. Incidentally, she must find out if pos- 
sible when Cousin Nellie would come, and where she 
really was at the present time. 

The arrival platform became crowded with a rush of 
people from the 11.10, just as she reached it; and for the 
first time she suddenly realized a terribly weak spot in her 
plan of campaign. She had not the remotest idea what 
Love-and-kisses-John was like. The platform cleared 
so rapidly that she had scarcely time to make up her mind 
to accost any particularly likely-looking gentleman be- 
fore he vanished among the crowd. Very soon, she was 
left there with only two persons of the male sex, besides 
the railway officials: one a lank countryman of a horsey 
appearance, and the other a tall, pink, well-built curate, 
somewhat too stout for his obvious youthfulness, with 
blue argumentative eyes and a rather heavy jowl which 
gave promise of the obstinancy of a mule. 

Cynthia unhesitatingly chose the curate, and caught 
him up just as he reached the barrier. “Excuse me,” she 
panted, incoherently, “but I wonder if — are you Love 
That is ” 

The curate whirled round in an annoyed surprise. 
“Yes, Madam?” 

“Oh, I only wondered — ^that is to say — Are you ex- 
pecting Miss Nellie Walgrove?” she continued. 

The curate's face cleared, he had quite naturally been 
suspicious of that unsolicited “Love.” “Yes. At least,” 

[73] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


he corrected himself conscientiously, “I rather hoped I 
might find her here, though I received a letter just be- 
fore leaving which led me to suppose that she had put 
off her visit. I thought perhaps my wire of yesterday 
might have been forwarded on to her from Mr. Wal- 
grove’s by some chance.” 

“It was not,” said Cynthia. “I am staying there and 
I know it was not. So I thought I’d come to meet you 
and save any misunderstanding, you see.” 

“Ah!” said the curate. “Then what did happen to 
the telegram ?” 

“It — it got put aside, somehow,” faltered Cynthia, who 
liked to speak the truth about actual facts. 

The curate rubbed that obstinate chin: then glanced 
at the station clock. 

“I think I might just have time to run up to the 
Walgroves’.” 

“No! No! I’m sure you have not,” said Cynthia ex- 
citedly. “I know you can’t do it.” 

He viewed her with disapproval mingled with surprise. 
“I don’t see why you say that,” he remarked. “My ap- 
pointment with the Bishop on Platform No. 2 at twelve 
o’clock can scarcely be known to you.” 

“Of course not. I — I only wanted to save you the 
trouble of going such a long way for nothing. They are 
all out,” said Cynthia eagerly. “I feel perfectly sure 
they are all out.” 

“Um ! That places rather a different complexion on the 
matter,” said Love-and-kisses-John, frowning and rub- 
bing that obstinate chin. “I really don’t know ” 

And he glanced at the clock again. 

Cynthia waited in an agony of apprehension lest any 

[74] 


LOVE— AND-KISSES— JOHN 


member of the Walgrove family should by some ill- fate 
enter the station and see them together, but it would be 
worse still if he went up to the house. Then she had a 
sudden wave of inspiration. Curates — tea — the two 
things always went well together. “Oh, there is such a 
nice little tea-room across the platform. Won’t you have 
a cup of tea while you wait?” 

He hesitated ; but, like many virile young men who deny 
themselves stimulants, he was fond of tea at all hours. 
“Well, perhaps I might as well,” he said, not too gallantly. 
And in a trice, Cynthia had him sitting opposite to her 
in the tea-room, which after all was not nice, and smelt 
of the dead flies of many seasons : still the tea was not 
so bad and the cakes looked eatable. 

“By the way,” said the curate, putting down his suit- 
case, “I suppose you know Miss Nellie Walgrove?” 

“Only by reputation,” murmured Cynthia rather ab- 
sently, because she was engaged in deciphering the name 
on the label of the suit-case. Ah! She’d got it! The 
Rev. John Henderson — and then she saw by his ex- 
pression that she must add something more to her reply. 
*T know the Walgroves are looking forward to a visit 
from their cousin. They seemed to expect her yesterday.” 

“Just as I thought,” said the Reverend John Hender- 
son. “I was afraid there had been some little misunder- 
standing. As a matter of fact, my — er Miss Nellie 

Walgrove is remaining at Midgeley, a place about thirty 
miles from here, until to-morrow afternoon.” He paused 
and blushed up to the roots of his nice, crinkled fair 
hair. “Perhaps I should tell you that Miss Nellie Wal- 
grove and myself have only recently become engaged to 
be married.” At which naive explanation Cynthia 

[75] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


beamed upon him so very kindly that — accustomed per- 
haps to too much attention from Sunday School teachers 
and others — he again became grave, not to say pompous. 
“Our engagement is quite recent,” he added in a very 
keep-off-the-grass tone. “It took place only the day 
before yesterday to be quite accurate.” 

“How delightful !” said Cynthia warmly, and indeed she 
meant it from her heart. He was so exactly what he 
ought to be — dear Love-and-kisses-John ! And she looked 
so very like kissing him herself, then and there, with 
her round cheeks flushed and her eyes shining into his, that 
he hastily drank up the rest of his tea, glanced at the 
refreshment-room clock and said he must be going at once. 

But as he rose, he automatically took out his own watch, 
comparing it with the clock. Then his fair face turned 
crimson with deep annoyance, and it was then he showed 
his fitness for his office, because he said nothing stronger 
than “Hang!” though he obviously wrestled with other 
words less evangelical. 

“What’s the matter, Mr. Henderson?” said Cynthia 
anxiously. 

“Matter I” said he, and he wrestled again. “I’ve missed 
the Bishop,” he burst forth after a strenuous pause. “The 
clock in this abominable place has stopped, and I’ve missed 
the Bishop.” 

“He may be there still,” cried Cynthia, picking up bag 
and stick and starting to run out of the door.j. “.Come on. 
Number 2.” 

“No use,” said the curate, joining her after'^a hurried 
inquiry. “Train gone!” And they stood blankly there 
on Platform 2. 

“You can write and explain,” suggested Cynthia at last. 

[76] 


I.OVE— AND— KISSES— JOHN 


“There’s nothing to explain,” said he bitterly. “I had 
only to take a note from my Vicar, who is a personal 
friend of the Bishop, and to deliver a similar message. My 
own belief is that my Vicar hoped it might possibly lead to 
something. He is greatly interested in my fiancee, and 
we can’t marry on my present income.” 

Cynthia said nothing. So this was the connecting chain 
which she had broken. The curate — Cousin Nellie — 
the Vicar — the Bishop — a. country living — bliss. She felt 
very self -reproachful, but the young man frowned at 
her in such a disdainful way that at last she revolted. 
“After all,” she said, “I didn’t stop the clock.” 

He struggled to be just, he was just — with a great 
effort. “No, of course not.” But it was evident that he 
wanted get away from her as soon as possible, and for 
ever. “Well, I must bid you Good-day,” he said, and 
stalked off down the station. 

“Stop! Stop!” she cried. ‘We can’t leave it like 
this. Where are you going to?” 

“I am joining Miss Nellie Walgrove at Midgeley,” 
he replied stiffly. “I only stayed here on my way through 
in order to — to see the Bishop.” And poor Love-and- 
kisses-John faltered so disappointedly that Cynthia could 
have cried herself in sympathy. 

“Oh, do cheer up,” she urged. “I’ll think of some- 
thing. As sure as I’m a living girl, I will. I’m pretty 
good at getting into scrapes, but I’m really splendid at 
getting out of them.” 

“For Heaven’s sake,” said he, almost dropping his bag, 
“don’t be so mad as to think of attempting to see the 
Bishop. You’d ruin me. The only favour you can possibly 

[77] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


do me, is to leave things alone.” And this time he really 
did go to his train, leaving her there staring after him. 

She waited a moment, deep in thought, then walked 
slowly towards the hotel entrance, bracing herself to tackle 
the difficult combination of Chloe and Emma, and opened 
the door of the hotel bedroom to find Emma seated by the 
window sewing, with an air of having washed her hands 
of the whole business, while Chloe stood gloomily by the 
dressing-table, fingering the shining gold and tortoise- 
shell articles that lay upon it. 

“Now, Chloe, come and let us have lunch now,” said 
Cynthia with artificial' liveliness, forestalling difficult 
remarks. 

But Emma was not to be pushed aside like that. 

“May I have a moment with you out in the corridor?” 
she said glumly. 

“Not now,” said Cynthia. “So very sorry. Not a 
minute to spare, Emma. Ell ring you up from Mr. Wal- 
grove’s later.” 

Emma muttered something, in which the words, “Mrs. 
Rayburn — Responsibility — Old enough to know better” — 
were alone intelligible. 

“But that’s just what I’m not, Emma,” said Cynthia, 
smiling ingratiatingly into that austere countenance. 
“You never get to be that until the silly jolly things seem 
only silly, you know.” 

“Sooner the better,” emerged now from a string of 
unheard comments. 

But suddenly Cynthia’s bright face changed with that 
odd unexpectedness which attracted some people, but 
which Emma found only a puzzle and annoyance. “No 

[78] 


LOVE— AND— KISSES— JOHN 


need to hurry me, Emma. One more night of it, and 
then I have finished.’’ 

“You mean you’re going to accept Mr. Miller?” said 
Emma eagerly, forgetting her ill-humour all at once. 
“Well, poor gentleman. I’m sure he has shown patience 
enough ” 

“What? Is Cousin Nellie engaged already?” piped up 
Oiloe, open-eyed. “Nurse thought ” 

“Never mind Nurse,” said Cynthia, seizing Chloe’s 
hand. “Come along, dear. What would you like for 
lunch ?” 

“Fried sole and meringues , said Chloe without a 
moment’s indecision. 

“That’s right,” beamed Cynthia, “I like people to know 
their own minds.” 

But Chloe was back again with a less convenient topic. 
‘Tsn’t that lady coming to have lunch with us ?” she said. 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Oh, she — er — ^prefers having it somewhere else,” said 
Cynthia. 

“She thinks herself too grand for us, I s’pose,” said 
Chloe in rather an awed tone. “I noticed what expensive 
things she had on the dressing-table. She must be very 
rich. Mrs. Robinson is very rich too, and that makes 
her dreadfully particular about where she goes out to 
lunch. Mother says.” 

“Money’s not everything,” said Cynthia. 

“It’s what I want when I grow up, anyway,” said 
Chloe. “Look at the different way you get behaved to 
if you’re poor, and if you’re rich. Doesn’t that show?” 

Cynthia looked down at the little dark-eyed creature 

[ 79 ]- 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


with an uncomfortable sensation that made her say 
rather sharply: “Most of the heroes in the world have 
been poor, Chloe.” 

“Then I don't want to be a hero,” said Chloe. “You 
wait and see how much more fuss they make about Miss 
Cynthia Rayburn than they do about you. Then you’ll 
wish you were rich too!” 

“Chloe! What a hateful way to talk!” said Cynthia, 
fretted to exasperation by this repeated touching of a 
spot which was already a little sore. 

For though she had always known the value of money 
— as rich people mostly do — she had also felt that even 
as a beggar-maid she must have been marked out for 
preferential treatment. It was not only the money, but 
she, Cynthia, whom the world delighted to make much 
of, and even without it her place in life must be agree- 
ably above the crowd. Now for the first time she 
wondered. 

But when Chloe made some naturally childish remark 
about the decorations of the hotel, the impression re- 
ceded into the background of Cynthia’s thoughts and she 
began to look forward to the Fancy Dress Ball in the 
evening with a thrill of excitement and anticipation such 
as she had never felt in her life, even before the most 
elaborately planned entertainments. It suddenly seemed 
a tremendous lark to be wearing somebody else’s cast-off 
costume, and to be going as the Poor Relation — the very 
apotheosis of that “dressing up,” and playing at beggars 
and old women, which had been a prime amusement of 
her rather lonely childhood. But behind all — dimly seen i 
among the golden haze where lived Alice and the White I 
Cat and the dear friends she had got to know before she i 
[8o] 


LOVE— AND-KISSES— JOHN 


could remember — there gleamed a white Pierrot. He 
was, in a sense, no more real than Sindibad; and yet it 
was her knowledge of the real man waiting for her to 
find if she could, that made a second-rate Charity Ball 
in a muddy, north-country town an adventure of the 
imagination. Without being aware of it, her instinct had 
led her to detect a capacity for romantic love — which 
is love of body and spirit both— which she had power to 
kindle if she could get near enough. She experienced 
the workings of natural selection in the way only possible 
to those who have within them the elements of romance. 


CHAPTER V 


THE FANCY DRESS BALL 

The legend, ‘Taney Dress Optional,’’ on the tickets, 
allowed the sprinkling of black coats and middle-aged 
evening dresses to somehow accentuate the peculiar air 
of artificiality and effort which hung about the company, 
caused by a mass of people thinking intently of their own 
clothes and the effect of them upon others. 

Cynthia stood rather hidden behind the two girls, Feo 
attired as a nondescript Eastern lady and Marjorie in 
some travesty of a bandit that permitted baggy trousers 
and a cap with a tassel. For the first time in her life, 
Cynthia had leisure to look on at a ball without her 
attention being dissipated by the give-and-take of talk 
and laughter. Young men came up and were eagerly 
greeted by the sisters, while Mrs. Walgrove smiled her 
tight little smile and stood erect near by without saying 
much. As girls were too numerous and partners scarce, 
they did not introduce Cynthia; it was quite enough for 
her to see all the amusing costumes and the gay scene 
generally. Mr. Walgrove was already displaying a really 
excellent leg in knee-breeches to his lady friends in an- 
other part of the room, and Anthony, detained by his 
business excursion into the country, had not yet arrived. 

Cynthia knew that he had returned very late from his 
business, and was content to wait until he arrived with- 

[82] 


THE FANCY DRESS BALL 


out dancing, the very queemess of the situation appealing 
to her, because of that love for adventures of the mind 
which was so deeply a part of her character, hidden 
beneath the froth and sparkle visible to her fnends. She 
was experiencing now the indescribable little thrill and 
quickening of the vitality which comes from finding out 
things, even the merest trifles, to then see them all glow- 
ing and alive, instead of dead facts found by, somebody 
else and laid out in a row. Her eyes dilated, her cheeks 
flushed and her lips parted slightly as she looked round 
her. The sense of unreality grew upon her. How funny 
— how awfully funny, if you could only see all these 
people as they thought they were! Mrs. Robinson, for 
instance — she had declined to see Cynthia, and no won- 
der, Cynthia thought, after tea yesterday, and the 
butcher’s cart this morning — there was one actual Mrs. 
Robinson, rather fat and short-necked, with a certain 
redness of nose already shining through the powder and 
too many pearls in her Marie Stuart head-dress. Then 
there was the other Mrs. Robinson-as-she-thought-her- 
self, standing just behind; tall, fascinating, reposeful, 
like one of those superhumanly tall and graceful ladies 
in the fashion papers. Cynthia found it a rather exciting 
and tremendously interesting game to watch the Ones 
and imagine the Other Ones. Then she suddenly felt, 
beneath the jolly sense of fun and stirred interest, a cold 
air of strangeness, because no one can travel in these 
lonely places without feeling that — ^and she caught a 
glimpse of a further thing. She, herself, would never 
see the Other Cynthia, only the creature of her own 
imagination; the same that Mrs. Robinson saw of her- 
self. Perhaps it was not safe to push further along 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


those paths ; perhaps a girl might become confused, think- 
ing what she knew the ghost, and the other the reality. 
It gave her now the oddest sensation of being in a 
grotesque world peopled with beings who saw some one 
standing in her place whom she herself would not rec- 
ognize if she had their vision 

She was so engrossed in these imaginary excursions 
that she started to feel a touch on her arm. Then 
Anthony’s voice said close to her ear,: ‘Well, Goose- 
Girl, a penny for your thoughts ! This is the third time 
I have spoken.” 

Her expression was for a second a little dazed, as it is 
when travellers come back from those places where she 
had been. But it cleared quickly, and she was all gaiety 
and happy interest — those thoughts nearly forgotten al- 
ready, though the effect of them was to remain. “Not 
worth a penny,” she said gaily. “Sort of Scottish 
blasphemy, if you know what I mean. I was thinking 
Burns talked sheer nonsense when he called it a gift to 
see ourselves as others see us. I think it would be a 
curse !” 

He glanced round the room. “That’s pretty severe! 
Are we as bad as all that?” 

She shook her head, laughing. “I didn’t mean the 
fancy dress, and I included myself. It’s just — well — it 
just gave me a queer feeling to realize I can never see 
myself as every one else sees me. I can’t explain. Let 
us talk about something else.” 

“Are you ready?” He put his •arm round her, and 
they moved off among the crowd. “So that’s what was 
troubling you, was it? Wait until this dance is over 
and you shall know exactly what you looked like then 

[84] 


THE FANCY DRESS BALL 


to one fellow-creature, at all events. Cousins can speak 
the truth to each other, you know.” 

Suddenly she felt a little spurt of anger on behalf of 
the real Cousin Nellie, He had no business to flirt like 
this with a poor little country girl who had never been 
anywhere and whose head might be so easily turned. Lt 
seemed difficult to understand how he could, being the 
man she thought him. 

■ ‘‘What^s a man's cousin to him?” she retorted. “I 
know. Something a little spicier than a sister and a 
little safer than a friend.” 

His face remained grave, but his eyes had a gleam 
of amusement in them under those heavy lids, and he 
regarded her with a secret feeling of not being able to 
make her out, though she seemed so simple. How came 
she to say things like that? You'd think the life of a 
nursery-governess would not have provided exercise 
enough for such verbal quips. How much did she really 
know about life? 

“A little safer than a friend! Jhat applies to both 
sexes,” he replied. “I'm glad you feel that.” He saw 
the childish round of her cheek as she turned and his 
voice changed. “It's true, though. You can trust me, 
Nellie.” 

The “Nellie” disturbed her again. , Where were they 
drifting? What was he, really, at the bottom? She gave 
a probing prick to his vanity. 

“Let us stop, please,” she said abruptly. 

“Sorry !” he said. “I know I'm not much of a dancer 
now.” 

As she remembered how he had gained his stiffness^ind 
the red deepened in her cheeks, he could feel the slim 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


fingers suddenly tighten on his sleeve. ‘‘Oh, I didn’t 
mean that ! I want to sit down,” she said hastily. 

“You seem to manage all right. No fear of my trying 
any of these new dances,” he responded. But involim- 
tarily his tone implied that he had been hurt and was 
now appeased. 

At that her face cleared and the spirit of happy mis- 
chief awoke again in her. “Oh! we do dance in our 
village sometimes, in our own pre-historic style,” she 
said. 

They were both smiling as they passed Mr. Walgrove 
on their way to a long corridor which was arranged as 
a sitting-out place, and that elderly gallant discontinued 
the pleasantries he was exchanging with a very decoU 
letee and mature shepherdess, to look with marked dis- 
approval at his son. All the daughters of the best busi- 
ness houses in the city to choose from — an unassailable 
social position created for him by the untiring efforts 
of his father and mother — and here Anthony must needs 
go philandering with a second cousin who had no man- 
ners and no money ! It was enough to anger any father. 

Mrs. Walgrove also glanced at the pair as they went 
out through the high doorway with much the same feel- 
ings. What was the use of her striving to keep the 
family right above the ordinary, one-servant Ford-motor- 
car level of her acquaintance, if her only son refused to 
consort with desirable partners who sat round the walls 
waiting for him to address them, all glorious in toilettes 
that showed to the meanest capacity how tremendously 
their fathers had prospered during the war? No wonder 
she felt bitter as she stood there with every hair in its 
place, and an intense consciousness of her own erect 

m 


THE FANCY DRESS BALL 

■ 

slimness as compared with the bulging outlines of other 
matrons. To add to this, her daughter Feo came up and 
whispered impatiently: '^ust look at Anthony, Mother! 
He is making a perfect fool of himself with that girl. 
I got Diana Medway to keep a dance for him, and he 
has never been near her yet. And his only excuse is 
that she has a bad-tempered nose.” 

“What nonsense !” whispered Mrs. Walgrove, glancing 
cautiously round. “I like a girl with plenty of spirit.” 

“Well, I can’t help it now, if young Robinson does 
get Diana and her hundred thousand down. I’ve done 
my best, making up to her whenever I came across her, 
and talking to her about Anthony’s perfections. I shall 
do no more for him.” 

And the next moment she was swaying again in her 
partner’s arms, her hot, dark eyes half -veiled and her 
mouth like a red bar across her pale face. Two men 
watched her from the doorway through which Anthony 
and Cynthia had just passed. “I wonder why that girl 
doesn’t marry again? It’s not faithlessness to the de- 
parted, and she’s the sort ” 

“Not going to let herself go cheap. Waiting for the 
highest bidder, no doubt,” muttered the other. “I say, 
that’s rather a good-looking girl Anthony Walgrove 
went by with just now. Who is she?” 

“Oh, some little governess they have brought out of 
kindness, so the fair Feo told me. Not a bad-hearted 
sort, Feo.” And they walked away together toward the 
smoking-room. 

Anthony meanwhile had found a quiet comer with 
which he had long been acquainted, where two chairs 
stood between a screen and a group of palms. It was 

[87] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


called “Proposal Corner” by the youth of the city, and 
when it was occupied, a certain unwritten code obliged 
all other couples to give it a wide berth. Anthony had 
previously avoided it because of this sentimental no- 
toriety, but he knew that his present companion could 
not be embarrassed by a fact of which she was unaware, 
and he. felt an extraordinary desire for a long uninter- 
rupted conversation with her. He had no reason for it 
in his mind, and he was, indeed, not conscious how 
deeply he did desire it, until the deceiving glint, in the 
half-light, of a fan left behind on a chair, caused him 
to imagine for one second that the place was already 
occupied. He felt a sudden sense of baffled anticipa- 
tion which literally turned him cold and then hot again 
before he came near enough to see it was only a half- 
opened fan. 

Cynthia sat down without the slightest suspicion of 
what he was feeling — a little laughter, indeed, still 
bubbling up among her thoughts at his obvious surprise 
that she should be able to dance decently. 

“How pretty the dresses are !” she said. 

“And so appropriate!” he answered, sitting down by 
her. “I always think a Fancy Dress Ball shows a great 
deal about human nature, don’t you? It often shows the 
part that men and women secretly desire to play in life, 
and can’t. That fat, dumpy woman without charm as 
Mary Queen of Scots, for instance; she is not wholly 
ridiculous, seen in that wistful light, is she?” 

“I suppose not,” said Cynthia. “But your theory only 
applies to those who are free to choose their costumes. 
If you go as ‘Night’ because you possess a black gown. 


THE FANCY DRESS BALL 


and the silver moon can be made for next to nothing, 
that is no sign of anything, is it 

‘‘Yes,” said Anthony. “It is a sign of a want of 
originality and a sense of dignity. The lady might just 
as well have made baggy calico trousers and called her- 
self an Apache.” 

“Well, we talk a lot about originality, but what is it?” 
said Cynthia. 

“Depends on the sort,” said Anthony. “I read the 
other day that real originality is what made God think 
of flowers, and mock originality is what makes a man 
walk down Piccadilly with his tongue out.” 

Cynthia smiled at him through the faint light, not 
speaking. What a dear he was ! And yet there was that 
other side of him which allowed him to make a fool of 
his poor little Cousin Nellie! The music came softly 
from outside and there was a scent of flowers some- 
where not far off. A sense of realities slipping away 
from her again pervaded her whole being. And some 
subtle intercourse of feeling must have passed between 
them, of which they had no direct perception, for she 
heard his voice in her ear, quite differently attuned from 
that in which he had spoken the previous time: “Well, 
what is it now, Goose-Girl?” 

“I was just feeling happy, Pierrot,” she answered 
with a sweet seriousness, and as she said this, she 
realized that she meant it. Let the future take care of 
itself, she would let herself be happy to-night. 

Touched and charmed by her attitude to a confusion 
of the senses which was more delicate and yet deeper than 
any he had known before, he took her hand very lightly 
between his long fingers. 


[89] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


“I promised to tell you what I thought of my new 
cousin,” he said, “but I can’t find the right words, after 
all. She’s really exactly as I used to picture the girls in 
fairy-tales that I read when I was ten years old.” 

She smiled at him again, thinking it was only for to- 
night. She’d let herself go, and say and do whatever 
pleased her. She’d be as silly as she liked, for just this 
one night out of all her life. “That’s a lovely thing to 
be — a boy’s dream come true,” she said softly. 

“Everything has once been a dream,” he said, gazing 
at her with blue eyes that looked black in the dim light. 
“It has to be, you know, before it becomes a reality. The 
first flint-arrow was a dream — the last great factory built 
in America was also a dream. When a man meets a 
girl, and loves her all in a minute, it is because he has 
dreamed of her.” 

Love — there he had got it! For to talk of love to a 
woman is the beginning of the sentimental journey. To 
the happily married woman past her first youth it brings 
a thrill of adventure without risk ; to the girl a glimpse of 
the mystery which He and She could solve if they chose ; 
to the old woman a chance to tell somebody how she, too, 
once was young. 

Cynthia looked down at the long fingers playing with 
her hand: “Love!” she said slowly. “That’s all very 
well in fairy-tales, where you can have a carriage made 
out of a pumpkin and a cottage of gingerbread.” 

“There’s Aladdin’s Cave in Fairyland, too. You might 
chance on that. But I can’t, somehow, fancy you hung 
round with gold and rubies.” He spoke quietly, still 
playing with her hand — not seeming exactly to think of 
what he was saying. “No. A common under a grey 

[90] 


THE FANCY DRESS BALL 


sky; and the little white cottage, where you will live 
when you are married, just on the edge of it. That’s 
you, Goose-Girl. Money would only spoil you.” 

“Would it?” She drew her hand away abruptly and 
he was puzzled to understand the expression that passed 
across her face — until it occurred to him that she was 
thinking of her poverty and feeling hurt by this allusion 
to it. The loneliness and uncertainty of her future, 
which her manner and something about her generally 
had prevented his realizing before, now became an actual, 
important fact to him. 

“Of course, you feel you’d like to have the chance of 
letting money spoil you,” he said. “Don’t worry about 
that. You ought to be glad things have made you what 
you are and not a self-satisfied heiress — like Diana Med- 
way, for instance.” 

Still she remained grave. “You think so?” she said, 
looking down the long corridor and listening to the music. 
Then she turned to him again. “Do you actually con- 
sider that a great deal of money is bound to spoil a girl’s 
character?” 

“I don’t know. I suppose not necessarily,” 'he an- 
swered. For they ceased now to be clever with each 
other — no more flashing wings and spreading tails; they 
talked simply of real things. 

“But you like poor people best, Anthony?” 

It was so seldom she used his name that her speaking 
it stirred him, as well as a faint wistfulness in her tone 
which he was at a loss to account for. “Yes, I do,” he 
said. And he gave his reply with a certain warm serious- 
ness that — complicatedly — pleased her for the absent 
Cousin Nellie, and vexed her for herself. 


.THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 

'^*But surely a nice rich girl might be as desirable as 

nice poor one * and with all the rest on top of her nice- 
Inessr” she argued. 

He looked at her "curiously, whimsically. 

**You’re a queer child. Now you are taking a brief 
for the moneyed girl. No, I don’t think she ever can be 
so nice, because she has learnt too soon what money can 
buy in the world.” 

‘Then you would never marry an heiress?” she said, 
turning over the empty programme on her knee. 

“Not if I know it!” he said. 

“But why not? If she were a really delightful girl and 
you liked her?” persisted Cynthia. 

“Oh, vanity, I suppose,” he said. “Desire to be the 
predominant partner. At any rate, I should want to be 
on an equality.” 

“But very few wives have financial equality with their 
husbands,” Cynthia replied. “I call that attitude of yours 
ungenerous. If you had a million, you wouldn’t mind 
marrying a girl without a penny, and you would not 
expect her to object.” 

“That’s different,” he said with finality. 

“I don’t see it. You simply decline to accept a posi- 
tion which you would expect a girl to accept as a matter 
of course.” 

He looked round at her and smiled. “I say! Here 
we are actually beginning to quarrel about the rights of 
heiresses! But you were so in earnest that I got quite 
heated too, for the minute.” 

“You seem to think they must be horrid.” She 
paused, irritated unreasonably by his attitude. “Any- 
way, your family don’t hold the same views.” 


THE FANCY DRESS BALL 


*‘Ah T’ He smiled again. So this was what it all came 
to ! ‘‘YouVe been hearing about their plans for me and 
the fair Cynthia. I suppose that imp Chloe gave the 
show away.” 

“Well, Cynthia may be a charming girl. Perhaps 
when you see her, you’ll wish their plans might succeed.” 

“Never!” He shook his head, laughing. “But don’t 
let us talk any more about money. Such an unfairy-like 
subject does not suit you a bit. Tell me instead how 
Red Riding-Hood and Cinderella were when you last saw 
them? They are such old friends, and I so seldom meet 
anybody from Fairyland.” 

She looked down. No, it would not come back — ^that 
atmosphere of happy nonsense. 

“Dear little Goose-Girl,” he said, bending toward her 
flushed averted cheek and touching it very lightly with 
his finger-tip. “Don’t let us think about real things 
to-night any more. I realize that you had a hard time 
at that dreary old farm, teaching those dull children, 
and I have a none too roseate future to look forward to. 
So let us have another night in Fairyland. Whatever 
comes in life, memories can’t be taken from us, you 
know.” 

“But we may have them spoiled,” she said gravely, 
almost sadly. 

He looked down at her — curious, delighted and yet 
vaguely uneasy. What had she done or suffered — this 
girl among those farming people in a remote village, that 
she could speak with such conscious knowledge. Had 
any boor among them played her false and so spoilt 
memories of tenderness in moonlit lanes? But he could 
not think it. She seemed so untouched. 


[93] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


Then the music started again in the ballroom, no 
longer plaintive, but gaily discordant. In a moment 
Cynthia’s mood changed. Her receptive emotions took 
in at once the message of that unharmonious tune which 
jangled forth; Dance! Dance! For to-m.orrow we die! 
She jumped up from her seat. “Come on! Pierrot 
does not really belong to Fairyland. He belongs to 
what’s happening in there. People Whirling round in 
fancy dress, and a band playing ” 

“That, and a garret,” he agreed, rising and following 
her. 

“It’s the garret that makes him so charming, of course,” 
she answered over her shoulder. “I agree with you 
about money there. A rich Pierrot would resemble a 
nymph in a fur coat.” 

“Then you do like this poor Pierrot after all ?” he said 
lightly, putting his arm round her to dance down the 
almost empty corridor. 

“Poor Pierrot, indeed ! With three good meals a day 
and woollen underwear! I’d like you better still if you 
looked cold and sad,” she retorted. 

So they whirled in among the Eastern ladies and 
Watteau shepherdesses, gayer than they had been before, 
and yet vaguely conscious of having lost something ; their 
minds were seeking the way back to that earlier mood 
which had vanished like dew when the sun gets high. 
But the knowledge that they had once experienced this 
mood together bound them with a delicate thread that 
neither time nor absence would break, because it could 
stretch out to such an infinite fineness. And they still 
felt the indescribable sensation of having approached each 
other in the spirit more closely than is usual in the ordi- 


THE FANCY DRESS BALL 


nary intercourse of human beings. They were excited, 
charmed, and yet ready to be angry with each other for 
no reason. 

After one turn round the room, Anthony was stopped 
by Feo^s hand on his sleeve. ‘‘Oh, I want to introduce 
Mr. Medway, Nellie. Anthony ought not to have hidden 
you away like that. I have been looking for you every- 
where. Mr. Medway, this is my cousin, Miss Nellie 
Walgrove.’’ 

Cynthia bowed stifHy, suddenly realizing the extreme 
awkwardness of the situation in which she had placed 
herself. At the best, she would be making a nine-days* 
wonder for the whole Walgrove circle. What folly to 
have come to this dance where she was bound to be 
introduced to a certain number of people as Nellie Wal- 
grove, though up to the present her programme was most 
unusually white and empty. 

A fresh train of thought rushed into her mind at the 
sight of the empty programme. If only these people 
had known that she was Cynthia Rayburn the heiress, 
there would have been scribbled hieroglyphics near every 
dance on that blank space. So it was not she, herself, 
who was always so sought after, even when she appeared 
at a ball in a distant county where the men were mostly 
strangers. And the knowledge was unpleasant, because 
she had always felt an agreeable subconscious conviction 
that she would be equally sought after without a penny. 

Then her partner was speaking to her — agreeably 
enough , but condescendingly — in a “Well-how-are-you- 
getting-along-little-girl ?’* sort of style to which she was 
totally unaccustomed; for he had obviously been asked 

[95] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


by Feo as a favour to dance with her and admired him- 
self for his own good nature. 

‘‘I suppose you won’t have done any of these new 
dances? Mrs. Feo tells me you are fresh from the 
country,” he said; and he subdued his terpsichorean su- 
premacy to a plain waltz with such an air of stooping 
to a beggar maid, and looked round the room so im- 
mensel)^ pleased with his own appearance in pale blue 
satin, powder and patches, that that fatal spirit of mis- 
chief to which Cynthia had said Good-bye for ever only 
five minutes ago, now re-entered the empty place, only 
the more wickedly active for a brief exodus. 

“Are those new dances very, very difficult?” she said 
in a meek voice. 

“ Tends whether yquVe a talent that way,” he said 
graciously, feeling her attitude was right. “Now, when 
I had had only one lesson, the lady-instructress told me 
I was a born dancer. Not that I take any credit to 
myself. It’s a talent, like anything else.” 

'“How nice that yours happens to be in your feet,” said 
Cynthia, looking up at his rather stupid face with simple 
adoration. 

“Well, I suppose I am pretty good. Must be good at 
something — ^ha ! ha !” And so becoming did he think her 
proper gratitude that he actually added: “Look here! 
If you can manage just to keep going. I’ll show you a 
few steps. Something to take back to the country, 
that— eh?” 

“How good of you !” murmured Cynthia, as he began 
to execute some fancy steps, leading her after him. “Oh, 
is that it? I think I can do that.” 

“Quite good, upon my word! But of course that is 

[96] 


I 


THE R\NCY DRESS BALL 


the easiest/’ he said. “Now when you get to this^-* And 
he made some strange passes with his left leg. “Bit 
more complicated, that, eh?” 

“May I try? Will that do?” said Cynthia, humbly 
eager. 

“Excellent!” said he. “Really, Miss Walgrove, you 
are quite a little wonder. I could make a dancer of you 
in no time.” 

“It’s you who are such a wonderful teacher,” said 
Cynthia. 

“With a talent like that,” said Mr. Medway pirouet- 
ting his best, and feeling no less inspired than when he 
was with the lady-instructress, “you ought to be in the 
profession, not governessing down in some forsaken hole 
in the country. I must speak to the Walgroves.” 

Then Cynthia glanced involuntarily across the room to 
the place where Mrs. Walgrove sat, and as she caught 
Anthony’s eyes fixed upon her, she realized that once 
more that silly imp inside her had led her into making a 
mistake, for both Anthony and his mother wore on their 
faces an expression of faint surprise. She knew, as well 
as if she could hear them speaking, that they wondered 
how on earth a little nursery-governess had learned to 
dance like that in a remote country place. 

“Ah!” said Mr. Medway with satisfaction when she 
purposely made a mistake. “I thought you couldn’t keep 
it up. Got wrong there, didn’t you? But you would 
make a dancer in time, all the same,” he concluded en- 
couragingly. For it was agreeable to find that no gprl, 
however gifted, could pick up in a few minutes what 
had taken him many toilsome evenings to acquire. “Better 
try a waltz again, I think.” 


[971 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


As she whirled round and round amid the motley 
crowd, Cynthia felt more and more a sense of unreality. 
The dress she wore was neither her own, nor belonged 
to her everyday existence, while the man who held her 
was a Dresden China shepherd from a mantelpiece — 
she became suddenly engulfed in a strange loneliness 
that almost frightened her. Where was the Cynthia she 
had known all her life? Was that person a phantom 
girl who never had really existed for anybody but her- 
self ? Was this the real Cynthia — as she would be, with- 
out the wealth and social position which had always 
veiled her from the eyes of the world? Was she just a 
rather foolish girl, very alone, who did not matter vitally 
to any one but an elderly woman who never left the 
house? And her thoughts veered round to her god- 
mother, who expected Mrs. Walgrove to have remained 
during all these years the same as she was at school 
when a dull composure passed for sincerity. The glamour 
of youth still shone on Mrs. Walgrove’s letters, because 
the two women had scarcely ever met since those days in 
the little old-fashioned school under the shadow of the 
Cathedral, and Mrs. Rayburn had wanted Cynthia to 
see something of her own youth before all trace of it 
disappeared. She thought no doubt — dear Aunt Harriet 
— ^that an entirely new environment might steady the 
judgment of an impulsive girl who had to make an 
important decision, and help her to see things in focus. 

At last Mr. Medway’s voice interrupted the stream 
of reflection that seemed to flow through her mind as 
they whirled. “I must introduce you to some of the 
other men. ’Fraid the best dancers will all be filled up, 
though. Still, when I tell them how you and I ” 

[98] 


THE FANCY DRESS BALL 


‘Oh, please don’t trouble. I would rather not dance 
with them. I should not get on so well with any one else,” 
interrupted Cynthia, realizing once more with a startled 
annoyance that she had done exactly what she wished to 
avoid in thus making herself a subject for conversation. 

“Sorry my own programme’s full,” he said, holding 
her a little closer and smiling down with the air of a 
conqueror. “Wish it wasn’t! Get booked up before I 
can look round, somehow.” 

For a second Cynthia felt very angry. This blatant 
creature actually thought she was dying to dance again 
with him! Then she remembered that this was entirely 
her own doing and ceased to blame him — you shouldn’t 
stroke a cat if you don’t like to hear it purr. 

Aloud, she said: “I mean, I am not going to dance 
any more this evening.” 

“Why not?” he said. 

She looked down. Argument would only increase the 
difficulties of the situation. “I’d rather not.” 

“Oh, you mustn’t be so shy, you know,” he said. 
“Soon cure you of that if you stay here long, you know.” 

“I’m going away to-morrow,” she answered, speaking 
so gravely that he felt a half-contemptuous pity for her 
as he left her seated on a bench and hurried away in 
search of his next partner. Poor little beggar! She 
evidently didn’t like the idea of going back to teach kids 
how to read and write : no wonder ! 

Anthony saw Cynthia sitting alone for a moment before 
the music started again and the whirling figures hid her 
from his sight ; but occasionally he could catch a glimpse 
of her figure against the light wall, her head bent a little, 
her slim hands laid on her lap. Cinderella now 

[99] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


Why must she always remind him of a girl in a fairy- 
tale? He did not allow himself to be drawn across the 
room to her side because he felt puzzled and suspicious. 
He could not make her out. She seemed so simple at 
times, and yet she could look up as she had done at that 
conceited ass, fooling him, as any one could see. And 
how had she ever learned to dance like that, with such 
exquisite grace and precision? Oh! — ^he came back to 
it again with a sense of baffled annoyance — he could not 
make her out at all. Well, it didn't matter to him. He’d 
leave her alone. 

Then Marjorie stopped and spoke to him. “Feeling 
seedy, Anthony?” 

“No, thanks.” 

“Feo says you really ought to go and speak to Diatia 
Medway. She will be awfully offended.” 

“Let her !” said Anthony. “Quite enough if Feo 
marries Medway!” 

“You can’t blame us for wanting to see you married 
to a nice girl,” said Marjorie. 

“Is Diana Medway nice? She always seeems to me 
to be as stupid as an owl,” said Anthony irritably, unable 
to help watching for those brief glimpses of Cynthia. 

“O Anthony ! She is not brilliant, of course, but there 
is something awfully charming about her,” said Marjorie, 
really believing what she said, and shocked that even her 
brother whom she loved should call a girl with a hundred 
thousand pounds an owl. “You always find fault with 
her. The last time it was her nose. And I know you 
think I pretend to like her because she is well off. But 
that is not true. I really do like her.” She paused, then 
[lOO] 


THE FANCY DRESS BALL 


continued: “I saw Medway dancing with Nellie. How 
good-natured of him!” 

“He seemed to enjoy it,” said Anthony. 

“Oh, that was his kind-heartedness — just like Diana,” 
said Marjorie. “By the way. Mother is terribly annoyed. 
Mrs. Robinson says she actually saw Nellie and Chloe 
driving through the streets yesterday morning at a break- 
neck pace in Wigsby^s butcher’s cart. All three of them 
were laughing and talking. What will that girl do next? 
I do think it is hard on poor Mother having Father’s 
awful relations foisted on to her like this!” 

“Perhaps the butcher’s cart is an ordinary means of 
conveyance in the wilds where Cousin Nellie comes 
from,” he said. 

“Of course you make excuses for her,” said Marjorie 
shortly. “Well, mind your passion for defending the 
under-dog doesn’t lead you into trouble this time. I 
rather think Miss Nellie is a minx.” 

With that she went off to her mother, leaving Anthony 
still at his place in the doorway. Had his sister spoken 
truly? When Nellie was dancing with Medway it cer- 
tainly loooked like something of the kind. But when she 
had talked to him in the nook at the end of the corridor, 
she was quite different from that; and yet she was not 
the same girl as the one with whom he had played at 
fairy-tales the night before. Again he said to himself 
he would leave her alone, and he started to make his 
way between the wall and the dancing couples to the 
corner where Diana held her court during the intervals, 
attired like Qeopatra in a really beautiful gown. But 
before he was half-way there, his feet took him in spite 
of himself toward the little figure seated alone on the 

[lOl] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


bench by the wall. Suddenly, he felt sure she was all 
he wanted her to be. An extraordinary sense of light- 
ness and happiness came over him as he hurried eagerly 
up to her and saw her passive attitude change at his 
approach. She was Cinderella — she was the Princess 
who married the youngest son — ^the fairy-tale girl under 
a dozen names whom he had seen as he sat hunched up 
before the nursery fire, with the little ones playing on 
the floor, after he came home in the late afternoon from 
his first school. The little boy he was then, pale, blue- 
eyed with eager ways, rose up so plainly before him 
that he could think he had been outside himself, and had 
seen himself there by the fire. Then the sudden flash 
of memory went as it came and he forgot it. The mov- 
ing figures all so brightly coloured; the perfumes, the 
soft rounded cheek of the girl near him — ^these were all 
he remembered now. And even before he spoke to her, 
Cynthia somehow felt he was back again — this other 
Anthony whom she kept finding and then losing — ^the 
one she might any minute see vanish for ever. 

‘Tsn’t it a pretty sight?'' he said. “No need to pre- 
tend to be real here, Cinderella." 

She smiled at him. “Oh, it's Cinderella now, is it?" 

“It's all of them I ever loved," he answered. “That's 
why I couldn't help kissing you when we first met. I 
said I'd tell you the reason some day." 

“You didn't look as if you loved me much when I was 
dancing," she said, trying to speak lightly, for it must 
not get serious again. The essence of a fairy-tale was 
that it could never influence your real life 

“That was because I had forgotten you were Cinderella 
as well as the Goose-Girl," he answered. “The minute 


THE FANCY DRESS BALL 


I remembered that, I knew of course that you could dance 
all the most difficult Court dances without ever being 
taught. It was perfectly natural. What did the Fairy 
Godmother make that particular gift out of, Cinderella ?” 

“A leaf that blew in at the cottage door when she 
opened it,” said Cynthia. 

They laughed together, too engrosssed to notice that 
Mr. Walgrove was regarding them with a frown, and 
they were startled when he stood in front of them. 

‘‘Can’t you find any partners, Nellie?” he said. “An- 
thony, see what you can do. I left it to you.” 

“Fm sorry,” said Anthony, suddenly realizing that he 
had made no effort to promote his cousin’s enjoyment of 
the ball other than dancing with her himself. “Of 
course, there’ll be plenty of men ” 

“Not at this hour of the night,” said Mr. Walgrove. 
“Your mother has had enough of it. She is going home 
in a few minutes.” 

Cynthia rose abruptly, seeing a way out of the situation 
that was once more becoming difficult. 

“Fd like to go, too. You won’t mind, will you? I 
have enjoyed it all immensely, but I would rather go 
home now.” 

And at that reply, Mr. Walgrove’s annoyed creases 
were smoothed out as if by magic; he smiled quite in- 
dulgently as he said to his disturbing relative: “Sensible 
girl! Not used to such rackety doings, hey? Well, you’ll 
get a good sleep and feel none the worse for it in the 
morning.” 

“Nonsense! You can’t go yet, Nellie,” said Anthony. 
“Mother won’t hear of it, I know. You must stay.” 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


Cynthia shook her head. “No. It’s been lovely. But 
I have to go at twelve, you know.” 

“Is that the rule at dances in your world?” said Mr. 
Walgrove, ready to be very pleasant indeed, out of sheer 
gratitude for her departure. 

“Yes,” she said, then smiled back at Anthony over her 
ishoulder. ^‘You know that, don’t you?” 

He nodded, making no further answer because of his 
father, and Mr, Walgrove stayed by Cynthia’s side 
until she had repeated her decision to Mrs. Walgrove, 
who also unbent. Indeed, both husband and wife felt 
more agreeably inclined to their guest than they had 
done at any time since the beginning of her visit. 

Cynthia emerged from the cloakroom, a little in ad- 
vance of her hostess, to find Anthony waiting in the 
draughty entrance with a concerned pucker in his fore- 
head. “You’re going home because you think you’re 
not wanted,” he said quickly. “You’re as proud as 
Lucifer.” 

She laughed, “What other name will you call me 
next? But I’ve simply loved it, and I had better go 
before I turn into an ordinary girl again, and you are 
disappointed.” She looked at him more closely. 
“Anthony, don’t be vexed! I want to go.” 

Then they saw Mrs. Walgrove approaching and he 
said hastily: “Will you come with me to the Panto- 
mime to-morrow afternoon ? They say it is a poor show 
— but will you come?” 

She hesitated. “I can’t promise. I don’t know 
whether 

But Mrs. Walgrove’s near approach caused Anthony 
to break in upon her reply with what he had to say, 


THE FANCY DRESS BALL 


lest he should be overheard. “Meet me at the theatre 
doors at half-past two. I can’t get home to lunch.’* 
And as she still stood looking away from him, he added 
urgently: “Do try! I was going to take Chloe, but she 
has a children’s party on. I do want you to come.” 

“I don’t care much for Pantomimes,” murmured 
Cynthia, as she turned to meet Mrs. Walgrove. 

“Anyway, I shall be there,” he whispered, then added 
aloud: “Tired, Mother?” 

“One of my tiresome headaches,” said Mrs. Walgrove, 
taking her son’s arm, to the taxicab, while Cynthia 
walked behind, wondering what would have happened 
before half-past two on the following afternoon. There 
seemed no possible chance that she and Anthony would 
be entering the Theatre Royal, Mabingstoke, for the 
purpose of witnessing a performance of “Cinderella.” 


CHAPTER VI 




THE LADY OF LOVE-AND-KISSES-JOHN 


As Cynthia drove along the shining, wet streets look- 
ing out of the window and answering the few remarks < 
which Mrs. Walgrove made from an obvious sense of ^ 
duty, she saw nothing but closed shops, empty pave- j 
ments and all the drab ugliness of Mabingstoke at ^ 
midnight, at that time of the year. Cinderella herself, 'j, 
when she ran home in her rags after the light and 
glamour and princely attentions, was not more forlornly } 
conscious of having left a happy scene that she might | 
never enter any more. Cynthia realized that there would J 
probably be a letter from the real Cousin Nellie on the | 
breakfast table in the morning, which would banish the i 
Anthony she cared for, in a flash — no less dramatically | 
than an evil enchantress in red tights. But no fairy ? 
princess would come in at the end to bring him back; | 
she would have to go all through life without seeing him | 
again, even though somebody looking just the same should | 
call upon her once a week. | 

She glanced round at Mrs. Walgrove, who sat with I 
closed eyes, looking very tired. Should she make a | 
clean breast of it now and get it over? The disclosure | 
was bound to be most unpleasant, however well stated; | 
while no possible explanation could prevent her appear- ^ 
ing rude, rather mad, and a perfect fool. The reflections 

tio6] 


THE LADY OF LOVE-AND-KISSES JOHN 


which ought to have attended her waking on that first 
morning after her escapade were there now in full force, 
and she did most bitterly condemn herself for having 
given way to such an idiotic impulse. Never again! So 
long as she lived and had her being, she would never 
more be guilty of ‘'dressing-up, ” playing any sort of 
silly joke, or behaving in any way differently from her 
neighbours. She was older now — she felt at that mo- 
ment intolerably old and disillusioned — and her day for 
such things was past. She must put them away as she 
had done her dolls and her fairy-tale books a few years 
ago. Life had to have less fun and magic and colour 
about it as you went on. 

Then a sudden joyous patch of colour leapt out at her 
from a blank wall. It was only the poster for the 
pantomime with the word **Cinderella” across it in 
big red letters and a golden coach underneath, but it 
sufficed to change Cynthia's mood. She pictured that 
afternoon in the dim theatre, with the fairy-tale going 
on before their eyes, and the eager children all round 
them. It would be far better than the ball; better than 
the supper before the fire on the first night; something 
between the two, intimate and yet glamorous — she must 
have it, like the spoilt child of fortune she was, who had 
always received what she wanted. 

“What were you going to say?" murmured Mrs. 
Walgrove, rousing herself ; for all this had passsed 
through Cynthia’s mind between one aimless remark 
and another. 

“Oh,” she answered. “Only thank you. I enjoyed 
myself so much.” 

“I’m glad of that. Of course, it would be a wonderful 

[107] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


sight to you/’ responded Mrs. Walgrove. Then she 
drew her cloak together because the cab was approaching 
the house. “Had you any supper?” she added, as they 
went in. 

Cynthia hesitated. No : of course she had not had any 
supper — how funny! But Mrs. Walgrove, mistaking 
the cause of her hesitation, for once desired to spare her 
feelings. “Young men were so scarce,” she said. ‘T 
believe even Marjorie had not got a partner for the 
supper dance before we left. But Anthony might have 
seen you had some refreshment. There was plenty to 
be had at the buffet. Fm sure he would, if he had 
thought.” 

“Of course he would,” said Cynthia. “But I’m glad 
he didn’t. May I have some of these biscuits and a cup 
of tea? I see they have left a kettle.” 

“Please help yourself,” said Mrs. Walgrove. “And 
if you don’t mind, I will go straight upstairs to bed. 
The noise and the lights have given me one of my 
sick-headaches.” 

Cynthia made the proper replies and in a minute or 
two was alone in the hall, sitting by the same little square 
table at which she had supped with Anthony. How still 
it all was! The clock made quite a loud noise in the 
quiet. The wood of some piece of furniture gave a 
sudden crack. And as she knelt to build up the fire 
against the return of the others, she did indeed bear a 
resemblance to a Cinderella in an old-fashioned fairy-tale 
book, with her shortish, bunchy skirt and laced peasant’s 
bodice and softly rounded cheeks. This girl who had 
been cared-for every hour since childhood found some- 
thing fascinating and adventurous in being there all alone 


THE LADY OF LOVE-AND-KISSES JOHN 


in the midddle of the night with no one to care if she 
went or stayed. She sat down by the hearth on a low 
chair and stretched her feet to the pleasant warmth, 
resting her head back on the cushion, trying to see into 
another kind of girl’s life — quite different from anything 
she had experienced. How nice if you could get right 
inside of all sorts of lives! . . . The things you would 
find out! 

Her eyes closed: very soon she was asleep and really 
dreaming. She dreamt that Mrs. Robinson came in at 
the door, dressed like a fairy godmother, excepting for 
her tiara and tortoiseshell lorgpiettes. And she tried to 
catch mice to turn into carriage-horses, but could not find 
any. The suspense while Mrs. Robinson crawled under 
tables and behind chairs with her tiara still erect and 
her fairy godmother’s cloak flowing out behind was 
simply horrible. And yet Cynthia felt convinced that she 
would never, never see Anthony again unless those mice 
were found. Horrid little eyes began to peep out every- 
where. Mrs. Robinson suddenly swooped round — ^and 
Cynthia woke up with a start to hear the sound of a car 
panting before the house. She glanced at the clock. 
Half-past two ; so the others must be home again. Before 
the latchkey rattled in the door, she was running upstairs, 
but the ache of those moments in the dream when she 
feared never to see Anthony again, still lingered some- 
where about her, and her face looked pale and startled 
in the glass when she went to take down her hair. She 
began to be afraid of what she felt. Never before had 
her feeling for a man slipped away beyond her own 
guidance, for impulsive though she might be, her hand 

[109] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


and head had always been cool and steady enough to 
keep the reins. 

But sleep — as ever — restored her self-confidence, and 
she went downstairs next morning with a fair certainty of 
being able to ‘‘carry it off,’^ even if that dreaded letter 
from Nellie Walgrove did appear on the breakfast table. 
She resolutely turned her mind away from speculations 
about Anthony and went on to consider the effect she 
would make on the rest of the family. Though she did 
not say so to herself, she knew that her money would 
immediately envelop her, in their sight, with a golden 
veil through which they would not be able to see her 
shortcomings very plainly, for thus far had her possession 
of wealth influenced a natural young girl’s view of human 
nature. 

When she reached the breakfast room, Anthony had 
already gone out, and Mr. Walgrove was eating there 
alone. Mrs. Walgrove nursed her sick-headache upstairs 
and the two girls were not yet down, so after a perfunc- 
tory inquiry as to whether she were tired, her host relapsed 
into the acrid silence natural to a gentleman of fifty-six 
who has been playing for several hours in a heated room, 
exposed to draughts, at being a gay twenty-five. When 
the postman came up the path, he remarked irritably: 
“Post late !” and went out to take the letters. 

Cynthia put down her piece of bread and sat perfectly 
still. Was this moment to end it all? Would there be 
a letter from Cousin Nellie among the batch? She heard 
him go straight upstairs, open and close his wife’s door, 
and after a brief space come down again. Immediately 
afterwards, Chloe’s flying footsteps sounded on the stairs 

[no] 


THE LADY OF LOVE-ANDKISSES JOHN 


and her shrill voice shouted: “Come back! Granny- 
wants you !’’ 

Cynthia rose and went out into the hall. She could 
not keep still any longer. After what seemed an inter- 
minable pause that door above opened and shut again, 
and Mr. Walgrove came down the stairs from his wife’s 
room. Cynthia moved forward to meet him, her eyes 
eagerly searching his face. Then Chloe piped up from 
behind : “Grandfather 1 Granny says you are to be sure 
and remind Uncle Anthony to come home for lunch. 
Diana Medway is coming.” 

A feeling of relief so intense as to make her feel quite 
faint swept over Cynthia. So there was no letter from 
Nellie. Then she gathered her wits together, for at all 
costs she must get out of that intolerable luncheon party 
without mentioning that she had arranged to meet 
Anthony. 

“Chloe !” she called. “Will you please tell your Granny 
that I am going out for the day? I hope she will not 
mind.” 

Mr. Walgrove looked at her with a slightly roused 
attention. 

“Are you lunching with that friend of yours at the 
Station Hotel? My wife intended to call on her this 
afternoon but for the sick-headache.” 

“No need for you to trouble — rather a recluse,” stam- 
mered Cynthia, appalled at the idea of that meeting. 

“Oh, we should certainly show her some attention,” 
said Mr. Walgrove, quite with his best air. “She seems to 
be a very nice woman, from what Chloe says.” 

*'Gold on the hair-brushes and things I” added Chloe. 

[Ill] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


“Some of us will certainly call on Monday,” said Mr. 
Walgrove, getting into his overcoat. 

“Oh, Monday!” Cynthia left it at that, for by Monday 
afternoon it would not matter, because by then she herself 
would have left Mabingstoke and all the results of her 
folly behind her. 

As the front door closed on Mr. Walgrove, Cynthia 
found Chloe looking up at her with a most odd, rueful, 
shrewd expression on the little pointed face. “No more 
going out together for usT she said. “The butcher’s cart 
did it. They think Mrs. Robinson is dreadfully upset. 
It was rather a low thing for you to do. Cousin Nellie. 
But I expect you visit with butchers and people like that 
at home.” 

“Yes, I do. The butcher in our village is a great friend 
of mine,” said Cynthia. 

“Um !” She gazed up consideringly. “Well, I like you. 
I should be rather sorry to see you a butcheress.” 

Cynthia laughed, but she felt pity too. “You shall 
come and see me whoever I marry, if they will let you,” 
she said, patting the little thin shoulder. 

Chloe glanced at her sideways, with the queerest look 
out of those big, dark eyes. “It won’t be Uncle Anthony 
will it? That would be so very convenient.” 

Cynthia started and turned red. What could this 
uncanny child possibly mean? 

“What nonsense!” she said sharply. 

“Well! Mammie and Auntie Marjorie said it,** 
retorted Chloe. “I mean, they said you wanted to, and 
they seemed afraid he might. They said he always did 
take notice of people who were common and nobodies.” 

( 1 12 ] 


THE LADY OF LOVE-AND-KISSES JOHN 


She paused and added casually: ‘‘Of course they want 
him to have Diana Medway. She is so awfully rich.” 

‘‘But you wouldn’t like Uncle Anthony to marry some- 
body not nice just because she was rich?” said Cynthia. 

“Nearly all rich people are nice,” answered Chloe in 
perfect good faith. “When Mummy says ‘a nice person’" 
it means she is rich.” 

“But what about me?” said Cynthia. “You say I am 
nice.” 

“Oh !” said Chloe, “/ often like them poor and common 
myself, you know. Look at Nurse, and the butcher’s 
boy! I was only talking about grown-up people.” 

With that she ran off, while Cynthia went upstairs to 
put on her coat and hat, preparatory to going out. 

As she opened the wardrobe to take down her coat 
from the peg, she saw the skirt still hanging there which 
she had worn on first arrival, and that reminded her of her 
promise to return the garments as soon as convenient. 
Perhaps the old woman would want that awful hat and 
coat to wear at church on the morrow. And all at once 
Cynthia had a plan ready to hand which would fill up the 
morning until it was time to meet Anthony: one, more- 
over, which would keep her safely away from Mabing- 
stoke and all chance of undesirable encounters. She 
determined at once to hire a car at the Station Hotel, 
request Emma to accompany her by way of placating that 
injured female, and lunch at some inn outside the city 
before going to the theatre. 

Like all Cynthia’s plans, it was full grown as soon as 
hatched, and she rummaged impatiently in drawers and 
bag for a piece of paper in which to wrap the clothes, 
but not finding any,, she made them into a parcel with 

[113] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


the grey skirt outside and hurried from the room. But 
in passing the dressing-table, her arm caught a little book 
lying there and caused it to fall on the floor. As she 
picked it up, the pages fluttered open, but she had no 
time to glance at them or at the inscription written inside 
by the wise old man who had prepared her for Confirma- 
tion. And yet she might have done well to glance at the 
inscription again, for the words were those of another 
wise man, ’'luel Johnson. “We may take F^ucy for our 
companion, it must follow Reason as our guide.” 

She had ^een fully conscious of their meaning when 
they were writtten in that book, but the knowledge in 
some way never reached deeeper than her intellect, and 
had not really influenced her at all. So she put the book 
back on the dressing-table and ran down the stairs with 
her bundle in her arms, ready to pursue Fancy as a guide 
and let Reason look out for itself, after her usual habit. 

Emma was at first lugubriously opposed to the jaunt. 
She felt bilious. She had a slight toothache. She had 
stockings to mend. But Cynthia’s buoyant good nature 
had been restored by that quick walk through the streets 
with the bundle under her arm, and she was able to 
disperse the gloom sufficiently for all practical purposes. 
Before long, therefore, the two were speeding along in 
an excellent car with a not-too-haughty chauffeur and 
the sharp air of a spring morning about them. It was 
only when they had returned the old woman’s clothes, and 
had been gratefully waved at from the cottage door on 
departing that Emma began to turn restive. 

“What! Go on to Midgeley, Miss. Whatever for?” 

“A — d. relation of the Walgroves lives there. I have 
a message to give her,” said Cynthia. 


THE LADY OF LQVE-AND-KISSES JOHN 

Emma relapsed into an injured silence and the car 
sped between the brown hedgerows with the fine branches 
standing clear against a pale blue sky. It was only when 
they approached the little village that Cynthia began to 
wonder how she should find the house in which the real 
living Nellie was staying. For this was her object. She 
had suddenly decided, when told at the hotel bureau that 
Midgeley lay only ten miles beyond her original destina- 
tion, that this would be the only way of ensuring complete 
happiness for the afternoon. Otherwise, every stir among 
the audience, or the sight of a programme-girl pushing 
between the ranks of people, might herald disillusion. 
She would fancy it was a message from the Walgroves 
demanding her immediate return because the real Cousin 
Nellie had either written or arrived in person. This sus- 
pense would spdil this very last excursion into Fairyland, 
and she was bent on making sure: the details were best 
left to the chance of the moment. 

Her first attempt succeeded, for the general shop had 
information about a young lady stopping at the Vicarage, 
and Cynthia returned joyfully to the car. But as they 
went on again, she became conscious of something truly 
portentous in Emma’s manner, and with a desire to con- 
ciliate she said pleasantly: ‘^Best of a little place: 
everybody knows everybody else.” 

The words seemed to release a spring in Emma’s 
anatomy. She jerked round and said in a tone of forlorn 
exasperation: ‘T can’t make neither head nor tail of 
this! You were asking for Miss Nellie Walgrove; and 
you seem to be making out at Mr. Walgrove’s that 
you’re called that. I may be poor, but I have a conscience, 
and I’m going to communicate with your godmother this 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


day when I get home. Who would she blame if you went 
and did anything? Why, me, of course. / ought to 
have taken care of you. As if anybody could !” 

“But I’m not doing anything wrong, Emma. I swear 
I’m not,” said Cynthia earnestly. “You’ve never known 
me deceitful yet, have you?” 

“No,” said Emma : then she sighed pensively, obviously 
out of the depths of some sentimental experience. “But 
we’re all putty in the hands of the men, when it comes 
to the point.” 

“I’m not,” said Cynthia'! “You know I’m not, Emma. 
You know you don’t think — I’m putty enough.” 

“Ah ! you don’t value a handsome gentleman as you 
ought, because he makes too much of you,” said Emma 
darkly. 

“But when I tell you everything is all right, you really 
ought to trust me,” said Cynthia. “I’d trust you with my 
soul, you know.” 

“Well, I suppose I can’t do anything else,” muttered 
Emma, still unconvinced. 

When they drew up at the Vicarage gate, she remained 
in the car while Cynthia went up to the door and inquired 
if Miss Nellie Walgrove were staying there. The maid 
replying in the affirmative, Cynthia found herself in a 
largish drawing-room filled with small ornaments, which 
yet gave an impression of stuffy bleakness. 

But in the brief interval of waiting she suddenly 
realized that she had not the faintest idea how to begin. 
Her plan formed during the drive, of stating the exact 
truth and throwing herself upon the merciful compre- 
hension of another girl who would also have a taste for 
a frolic, became ridiculous and untenable in face of 


THE LADY OF LOVE-AND-KISSES JOHN 


these stiff cushion covers and innumerable small china 
ornaments. 

The door opened before she had thought of a fresh 
expedient, and immediately she saw that the real Cousin 
Nellie could be told nothing. The girFs uncompromising 
mental attitude was such — standing there very erect, 
with clean, red, slim hands by her side and pointed chin 
a little raised — ^that it was positively visible outside. It 
even, for a moment reduced Cynthia to feeling as like a 
pricked bladder as any unsuccessful jester ever felt in 
this world. The puckish, will-o'-the-wisp light which 
plays round the meanest joke when it is our own, giving 
it colour and joyousness, dies out instantly in the mere 
presence of some people, though they never say a word. 
And this slight girl with an agreeable, pink complexion 
and brown eyes, had such a presence. As Cynthia stood 
there tongue-tied, she said in a cool little voice which 
just matched her face and figure: *‘The maid said you 
wished to see me. Please sit down.” 

When she moved, her third finger with the ring on it 
caught the light, and despite the predicament in which 
Cynthia had entangled herself, she felt a little, sudden 
rush of inward laughter. That was Love-and-kisses- 
John's ! How dared he ? Then her own embarrassments 
enveloped her again. *T — that is — I am staying with the 
Walgroves. My name is Cynthia Rayburn,” she said. 

‘‘Oh, the maid did not tell me the name correctly,” said 
Nellie Walgrove. ‘‘My fiance '* — she glanced down at 
the ring — ^“told me he had seen you.” And from her 
expression, and a certain added stiffness, it was only too 
clear to Cynthia what the opinion of the Reverend John 
Henderson had been about herself. 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


“rm so sorry: so very sorry/' she said, suddenly 
remembering the Bishop and Platform 2. will do all 
I possibly can to put that right, Miss Walgrove.” 

Cousin Nellie smiled, and Cynthia did not condemn 
the quality of the smile when she recalled that delightful 
sequence — Bishop — country living — ^bliss — which she had 
destroyed. 

“It seems a pity,” replied the victim of Cynthia's 
indiscretion, “that you have come all this way to express 
your regret. It is very good of you. I hope to be over 
in Mabingstoke myself next week.” 

“Oh!” Cynthia gave a tiny gasp and flushed from 
brow to chin with the intensity of her relief. No warmth 
or eloquence in the world could have sounded so delight- 
fully in her ears as those few stilted words which opened 
up such an easy way out of the embarrassing situation. 
She could just go on letting Nellie believe that she had 
come for no other reason than to show regret for having 
muddled the interview with the Bishop, and no further 
explanation of her visit would be necessary at present. 
“I believe you are coming to stay with the Walgroves 
soon ?” she said. 

“I am hoping to do so,” said Nellie with precision. 
“But Mr. Henderson may come over on Monday for a 
few days, in which case my kind friends here have 
invited me to remain. I am intending to write to Mrs. 
Walgrove as soon as I know for certain what Mr. 
Henderson’s plans are.” 

In spite of Cynthia’s pre-occupation, she saw how 
bappy those two were going to be together, for the 
youthful pompousness inherent in the young man would 
be constantly fed by a wife who even now mouthed her 
[ii8] 


THE LADY OF LOVE-ANDKISSES JOHN 


“Mr. Henderson” with such an air of self-satisfied impor- 
tance. It was easy to imagine how she would say “The 
Vicar,” and how very satisfactory they would both be in 
every way to each other. 

“You have never seen your relations, I think. Miss 
Walgrove?” she said. 

“No.” As Nellie paused, her eyes lightened a little 
and a slight flush animated her pale cheeks. “To tell 
you the truth, I have never felt I was wanted, and I am 
not particularly sure of my welcome even now. I broke 
down in health and nobody wants to keep a governess 
who requires waiting on, and so it was arranged that I 
should go there. I was not engaged to be married at 
that time. Circumstances have altered. So I came here 
for a few days because my host and Mr. Henderson have 
been very close friends since they were curates together 
in Manchester.” 

But the part of the whole concisely delivered speech 
that really reached Cynthia was just one sentence: “No- 
body wants to keep a governess whp requires waiting on !” 
It opened such a vista into this girl’s life that she had an 
almost irresistible impulse to put her arm around that 
unyielding little figure and blurt out: “Never mind! 
Never mind! You are going to be fairly comfortably 
off. You are going to have a dear little house with a 
garden and a lawn in front. You’re going to make up 
for everything now.” But for once she restrained the 
impulse, deterred by the certainty that Nellie would dis- 
like such a proceeding very much indeed, besides con- 
sidering her insane. So she only murmured politely: 
“Delightful, of course! I hope you will be very happy. 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


Do you wish me to mention your engagement to the 
Walgroves ?” 

‘‘I think not, please. In fact, I was sorry when Mr. 
Henderson told me he had mentioned it to you, because 
I feel we ought to await the consent of his father who 
is in India before making the matter public. But we had 
only become engaged a day or two before.” She paused. 
“I suppose he couldn’t help talking about it.” And again 
something in Nellie’s expression showed her to be after 
all subject to the common weaknesses and emotions of 
mankind; but the next second she added firmly: “Of 
course, if any question should be asked, you are at liberty 
to tell the truth at once. I dislike any sort of deception.” 

“Of — of course,” faltered Cynthia. “But I had better 
not detain you any longer now. I have said I am sorry 
that I lost the Bishop — I mean, made Mr. Henderson 
lose the train.” 

Her voice died away into nothingness. 

“Must you?” said Nellie without any great pretence of 
regret. “I see your car is outside. Good-bye.” 

Cynthia came away down the path and seated herself 
by Emma in a somewhat spiritless fashion. Could she be 
so foolish and altogether unsatisfactory as Cousin Nellie 
had made her feel? Perhaps she was. Perhaps only 
her money kept other people from seeing it, or letting 
her know they saw it. She glanced aside at Emma, bear- 
ing with glum patience all her vagaries. Would even the 
faithful Emma stand these things if she were not 
extremely well paid? 

But the car moved quickly through the sunny air, the 
country inn where they were to take an early lunch was 
soon in sight and Emma grew visibly less depressed. By 

[I20] 


THE LADY OF LOVE-AND-KISSES JOHN 


the time they had finished their meal, she was speaking 
quite favourably of the invention of motor cars, and she 
stepped almost jauntily into her place when they set forth 
again. 

Cynthia also began to throw off the effect of her visit 
and her spirits rose in a sort of crescendo movement with 
every mile that brought her nearer to Mabingstoke. Now 
she realized that all her suspense was at an end, and she 
would have her Sunday afternoon in Fairyland undis- 
turbed by any contretemps connected with the real Cousin 
Nellie. Another thought that she would not pretend to 
notice was beneath that, giving a glamour to the prospect 
of a pantomime in a local theatre that she would have been 
the first to find ridiculous a week ago. It was the secret 
hope that those hours together might so enchant that 
Anthony whom she knew and others did not, that he 
could not vanish if he wished. 

She dropped Emma near the hotel and went straight on 
to the theatre, looking out eagerly for Anthony’s figure 
in the doorway : but he was not to be seen. Immediately, 
she recalled Mrs. Walgrove’s message to him, for the first 
time since it was uttered. It had seemed to her at the 
time so utterly improbable that he should break his 
appointment with her for the sake of lunching with Diana 
Medway. But supposing he had done? Supposing he 
had telephoned to the house after her departure that he 
would be unable to take her to the theatre? He was in 
his father’s office, and there might have been a row on 
the subject which made it seem not worth while. 

Then he came out of the swinging doors and hurried 
eagerly towards her. 


[I2I] 


CHAPTER VII 


AT THE PANTOMIME 

The theatre had not been redecorated for some time 
and the smoke and damp of the long Mabingstoke winter 
seemed to hang about the stalls and the pit, so that those 
looking down from the dress circle saw a faint greyness 
over the dulled colours of the curtain and over the 
bleak prospect of drab hats and heads in the stalls. 
As Cynthia settled herself in her place she felt a sense of 
dullness creeping over her to match the surroundings, 
while the staleish air after the crisp breeze through which 
she had come seemed to take the sparkle out of her happy 
anticipation. She began to think she had expected ridicu- 
lously too much of this afternoon at the pantomime. 

Perhaps something in her mood reacted upon her com- 
panion, for he suddenly found himself talking to her as 
if she had been any of the girls in Mabingstoke with whom 
he was acquainted. A river seemed to have unrolled 
itself like a strip of carpet between them and they threw 
nothings at each other from either bank. They felt dis- 
appointed in each other, vaguely irritated perhaps because 
they had expected so much. 

‘T always think matinees must be so tiring for the 
performers,” he said, making conversation. 

‘‘Yes. Should you like to be an actor?” 

“Oh, no. I couldn't act. It would be more in your 
line.” 

[122] 


AT THE PANTOMIME 


“Then you think I could act ?” she said. 

“I know you can.” He paused and his tone altered: 
became less superficial. “Didn't I see you that first 
afternoon ?” 

She turned toward him, a little startled. 

“What do you mean?” 

“No need to ask me!” He glanced sideways at her. 
“Only you rather overacted the part, of course.” 

“You — ^you knew all the time ?” She caught her breath, 
staring at him with wide eyes. 

“How could any one fail to do 'so ?” he answered. “It 
was obvious to the meanest intelligence that you were not 
pleased with your welcome, and were determined to be as 
‘impossible' as my mother and sisters could have feared.” 

She leaned back in her seat. Then he had not found 
out: and yet she knew quite well that she would never 
have a better opportunity to explain her point of view. 
Only that would mean either leaving the theatre, or 
remaining there with everything spoilt, and a faint hope 
still lingered in the back of her mind that the afternoon 
might turn out as she wished after all — things so often 
did! Her experience of life had so far taught her to 
expect the fulfillment of her wishes and she turned to 
Anthony with renewed confidence. 

“I was rather awful,” she acknowledged. “No wonder 
your family felt annoyed. I am afraid they did not 
explain my behaviour in the same way.” 

“No. They think it was due to nervousness. I sup- 
pose some girls unused to Society do talk fast and make 
fods of themselves generally when they feel shy,” he 
answered. 

“Perliaps it was that,” suggested Cynthia. 

[123] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 

He shook his head. 

“No use trying to bamboozle me, my cousin. If Mother 
and the girls were not so full of their own concerns they 
must have noticed that you were acting — and acting pretty 
badly too. You have never been at all like that since. 
In fact, you dropped the character as suddenly as if you 
had walked off the stage.” 

“It was nice of you to be sorry for me,” she murmured. 

“Couldn’t help it,” he said. “You were so quaint in 
that queer hat, and so flamingly angry about something. 
By the way, where has that hat gone to? I should like 
to see it again.” 

‘Y'ou never will!” she said, and began to feel light- 
hearted in proportion to her former depression. For 
this' afternoon, at any rate, she was safe. 

“Why can’t I see it once more? Something I particu- 
larly fancied about those feathers,” he said. 

“Oh, because it is a country hat. Not meant for a 
place like Mabingstoke.” 

“Some day you must wear the whole costume again, 
just to please me. Will you?” 

“Couldn’t!” 

“But if I ask you?” 

“I’m sorry. I have sent it back to the country.” 

He leaned a little toward her, gradually recapturing 
that in her which had first attracted him. “I say, Nellie, 
one of these days you and I will go into the country and 
we’ll play at fairy-tales again, as we did that night before 
the hall fire. Only this time it shall be early summer, 
and a green common with daisies, and those tall poplars 
just come into leaf.” As he talked, he experienced that 
curious ease of mind which comes very seldom to any 
[124] 


AT THE PANTOMIME 


one, and to many people not at all. He could talk non- 
sense exactly as it bubbled up to his lips, without think- 
ing — sure that the one listening to him would follow and 
be pleased. It gave him the same sudden, jocund sense 
of freedom that a child knows when he throws up his 
cap and rolls among the daisies: and Cynthia could 
answer him with an equal absence of self-consciousness. 
It is a moment that comes sometimes to two people who 
are attracted by each other and may never return even 
though they marry. An unforgettable moment. So they 
talked while the orchestra tuned up, and the fiery little 
conductor with bent head and broad shoulders waved 
his arms like a big excited spider, between them and 
the footlights. 

Then the curtain began to rise, and as the feet of the 
actors appeared on the stage, the delighted laughter of 
expectant children swept across the house: so clear and 
sweet it was, that it freshened even that stale air, and 
set people thinking of a spring wind across a bluebell 
field. 

Anthony ceased talking now, and they just sat still 
side by side, with the coloured figures flitting about the 
stage in front of them and that clear laughter rippling 
ouit at every old joke which belonged to the dawn of 
life. For the children discriminated unerringly; they 
knew there are only seven jokes in the world, and they 
rejected the futile attempts to manufacture more with a 
critical precision unspoilt by the grown-up desire to 
laugh at any price. This pageant of fairies, ugly sisters, 
pumpkins and a golden coach went on beautifully for 
them, not interrupted at all by the dingy commonplace- 
ness of the dialogue, because the things that happened 

[125] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


were all they cared about. Sweet Cinderella near the 
fire made them love her, and the funny man sitting down 
hard and pulling faces as he rubbed the injury made 
them laugh. It was like being back in the Golden Age 
to be in Mabingstoke Theatre that Saturday afternoon, 
though the pantomime had not been a great success 
among the older citizens, and nearly every one there of 
mature years had come only to bring children. 

As Cinderella went off to the ball, all white and silver, 
a tiny boy behind Cynthia suddenly piped out : ‘‘Mummy ! 
I’m going to marry Cinderella when I grow up. May I ?” 

Anthony glanced back at the little eager lad with an 
amused tenderness, then whispered to Cynthia: ‘T know 
justjiow he feels.” 

“So do I,” answered Cynthia, “because I fell in love 
with Dick Whittington at my first pantomime. I can 
just see him still, sitting on a stone with his little bundle 
near, and the bells ringing. Reason has assured me 
since that he was a mature lady with a rather raucous 
voice, but I don’t listen to reason.” 

She felt the touch of his long fingers on her wrist. 

“No: just the same little maid in that way still, aren’t 
you?” 

Then a song on the stage obliged them to be silent 
again, and Cynthia was very content to sit quietly near 
Anthony, feeling the light pressure of his arm some- 
times against her own, and permeated by the conscious- 
ness of his physical and spiritual nearness. What they 
had said was nothing — it never had been anything — 
but she felt she had captured him now, the elusive 
Anthony that only she knew : after this he was not going 
to dart away from her any more, leaving the man whom 

[126] 


AT THE PANTOMIME 


the rest of the world took for the real Anthony in his 
place. She felt certain of him now. He could not vanish 
into those remote distances after being so near for so 
long. They were bound together by a cord that must 
always draw him back in the end. 

Her very fears and speculations seemed even ridicu- 
lous, aft^r a time. It was only, no doubt, that she did 
not know him well enough. These foolish ideas about 
him were just the creations of her own fancy. 

The interval — the lights suddenly flaring up — dis- 
turbed the flow of thoughts that slipped easily across a 
mind grown lazy with happy sensations. She was almost 
reluctant to begin talking about the performance. 

“So you did go to a pantomime when you were little,’' 
he said. “I thought you had always been buried in the 
heart of the country.” 

“Did you? Well, I lived in the country but I went 
to a town sometimes,” she said. 

“You will have to tell me your whole history from the 
beginning one of these days,” he said. 

“The simple story of ” She broke off, just in 

time. “Of Nellie, of course,” she concluded. 

But she was sorry to have spoken that name because 
it reminded her too forcibly of a slim, red hand with a 
new engagement ring upon it, and all the complications 
which lay beyond. Still, even those did not seem to 
matter now so much as they had done in the morning, 
and his next words lulled her once more into a trance 
of happy security. 

“Well, we must have the story when we go for that 
walk into the country,” he said. “Just the occupation 
for a holiday.” 


[127] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


“But shall you and I ever have a holiday together?” 

She almost held her breath when she had said that, 
knowing she had spoken with too much meaning. How 
would he take it? Would he answer like most other men 
whom she had known, either flippantly jocular or too 
much in earnest? 

His voice fell so lightly on her ears that it gave her 
almost a sense of being repelled. “Of course we’re going 
to have a holiday together. Don’t you know Cinderella’s 
coach will come back for us two when it has taken that 
happy pair to the palace of Happy-ever-after ?” 

“Will it?” said Cynthia: and she sighed and smiled 
together. 

“Then we’ll have a child’s dream of a honeymoon,” 
he went on. “You must remember what that was like 
when you fell in love with Dick Whittington at seven.” 

The momentary sense of rebuff passed, and her eager 
fancy responded to his again, though wistfully. “Yes, 
I remember now: playing every day with the one you 
love best, no lessons, and the sun always shining.” 

He glanced sideways at her flushed cheek. “There is 
still one thing that has not changed much, then. I know 
I still want my honeymoon to be like that.” 

A solo here prevented further talk, and once more 
they sat silent together, watching Cinderella try on the 
shoe and marry Prince Charming, thoug'h the golden 
coach had to be imagined, because the Mabingstoke 
Theatre did not run to horses on the stage; and the 
children’s laughter still kept rippling through the theatre 
wben anything pleased them, as if a wind from Fairy- 
land had set the bluebells in a field all ringing — so clear 
it was, and so untouched by life. At last the perform- 

[128] 


AT THE PANTOMIME 


ance was over. The children had to come straight away 
from the wonder of glittering fountains with lovely 
ladies rising out of silver shells, into the gloom of a 
Mahingstoke winter evening, but they did not feel it and 
were all chattering and bright-eyed like a flock of happy 
birds. Anthony and Cynthia also felt the damp, chill air 
strike in their faces as they walked along to find a cab, 
but they were older, and some of the magic had faded 
already from their minds. Directly they had seated 
themselves in the taxi, Anthony took out his watch. 

“The fun’s over, Cinderella,” he said. “Now for the 
row at home. Were they very much annoyed when I 
did not turn up for lunch?” 

“I don’t know. I lunched with my — my friend whom 
you met at the hotel,” she answered. 

“Of course ! I saw you drive up with her in the car,” 
said Anthony, “now I come to think of it. She seems 
kind-hearted,” he added. “A neighbour, I suppose?” 
For it had been obvious to him, even at a casual inter- 
view, that Emma could not have been Cynthia’s friend 
excepting by force of circumstances. 

A sudden jerk prevented the necessity of a direct re- 
ply, and Anthony returned to the subject of the luncheon. 
“TTiey’ll think I did it because I wanted to avoid Diana 
Medway.” 

“Well, you won’t mind so very much their being a 
little annoyed about that, shall you?” said Cynthia. 

“No,” said Anthony. ‘%ut they only do it because they 
are fond of me and think Diana’s — or somebody else’s — 
money will make me happy. What does bother me, is 
that they may blame you for being the innocent cause.” 

“Qhl” Cynthia laughed lightly. “Fm the siren who 

[129] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


has led you away from the path of mercenariness, am I?” 

He looked at her curiously. He was blessed, once 
more, if he knew what she was: but he did not say so. 
But anyway she obviously did not care whether his rela- 
tives were angry or not, which was a comfort. And yet 
he felt a vague contradictory sense of irritation on their 
behalf, that it should be so. For his mother and sisters 
had taken this girl in when she had no other asylum, 
after all, and they were not treating her with any actual 
unkindness. His family loyalty, or pride, or whatever it 
might be called, was stirred by the casual way in which 
she set aside his mother^s possible annoyance, though he 
had been so ready to fight for her when he thought she 
was being neglected. 

‘They only do it for my sake,” he repeated. 

“Of course,” she answered. “Your people would 
naturally want you to see more of the heiress. Propin- 
quity is everything. Goodness knows, how many plain 
girls have been urged on to victory by that saying of 
Thackeray’s — is it Thackeray? — that any woman with- 
out a positive hump can get any man living, given a fair 
chance. Well, Mrs. Walgrove wants to give Diana the 
fair chance. You can’t blame a fond mother for that.” 

“I don’t,” said Anthony, rather shortly. “But you are 
mistaken in thinking any of them would wish me to 
marry a girl w‘hom I didn’t really care for. They would 
want me to be happy, before everything else.” 

“Not to marry for money, but to love where money 
is — ^like the Lincolnshire farmer,” added Cynthia, wdth 
growing irritation, impelled to answer in this way by the 
slight shade of — not exactly pompousness, but pompous- 

[130] 


AT THE PANTOMIME 


ness translated into terms of Anthony — that marked his 
demeanour. 

“I don't know why you should sneer at my mother for 
wishing her son to have a rich wife,” he said. *‘It is 
quite natural enough, after all.” 

Cynthia looked at him angrily, not knowing quite how 
far his feeling of loyalty toward his own had inspired 
this argument. ‘Then you are fortunate in having two 
strings to your bow,” she said. “I thought it was to be 
the other heiress, Cynthia Rayburn. But of course you 
may not like her when she arrives.” 

He turned round upon her, pale with anger. 

“Do you believe that tale ?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” she added, also losing her temper 
a little. “You seem to approve.” 

“If you think in that way about me, I wonder you care 
to be my friend,” he said. “Certainly I don't wish to 
be yours.” 

“I was only joking,” she answered hastily, suddenly 
afraid of the consequences of her thoughtless words. 
“As you say, it is no doubt only because they love you, 
and want you to have everything in life that you can 
desire.” 

“They may seem mercenary, but beneath it all there is 
something quite different,” he said; and after a pause 
went on with rather an effort. “It came out when I was 
fighting. I hadn’t realized it myself before. But I know 
now that if any one could have come to them then, with 
millions in one hand, and the certainty of my returning 
safe in the other, they wouldn’t have hesitated for a 
single instant: not one of them would.” 

“No.” She looked at him and then away, saying quite 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


gently: “Fm sorry, Anthony, you're right to stand up 
for them.” 

The next second she felt the touch of his fingers in 
her hand, and heard him say quickly : “I know they don't 
appreciate you as they ought to do. But they don't know 
yet, how dear you are, Nellie.” 

“Then you do like me, after all?” She was biting her 
lips, and very near to tears : she, the casual, light-hearted 
Cynthia who had hurt several men badly and never even 
realized their pain. 

“Like you !” He slipped his arm round her. “My dear 
little girl!” And he kissed the flushed cheek nearest to 
him just as the car rushed into the lamplight near his 
father's door. 

But he had a question about her in his mind, even as 
he helped her out of the car; and she also was wonder- 
ing whether he had often kissed other girls in that easy 
way without any intention of asking them to marry him. 
When they sat together in the dimness of the theatre she 
had felt no doubts at all, but she could not get back into 
Fairyland any more now, though her dream of happy 
love was still very like that of the children — to play every 
day with the one you loved best and always in the 
sunshine. 


CHAPTER VIII 


cupid's reluctant messenger 

When they entered the drawing-room Mrs. Walgrove 
was seated alone by the fire in an attitude which made 
Cynthia exclaim to herself: “Kitty, a fair but frozen 
maid!’’ For indeed the words of the charade in Jane 
Austen’s novel did apply rather wonderfully to Mrs. 
Walgrove at that moment, because that justly irritated 
lady of the house might have been frozen into that very 
attitude, in that very chair, at a prim and angular twenty; 
and might have so remained getting sallower and greyer, 
but otherwise to all outward seeming unchanged, up to 
the present time. The idea of her with a baby always 
appeared incongruous and a little unseemly, though she 
was there opening her lips to address her son. 

The involuntary inward laughter which so often 
bubbled up in Cynthia at awkward moments, dispelled 
in this instance the apprehensive and irritated frame of 
mind with which she came into the room. Mrs. Wal- 
grove in that unbending attitude was an inconvenience, 
of course — but she could be considered amusing, viewed 
in the right light; and, after all, she was truly fond of 
Anthony. 

But while Anthony’s excuses were received with at- 
tention, even though he was plainly in disgrace, Cynthia’s 
own explanations were passed over very lightly. It was 

[133] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


impossible not to be aware that the Walgrove ladies had 
been only too glad to let her follow her own devices so 
long as she kept out of the way of their guests. That 
the only son should have failed his family in order to 
take this ill-behaved poor relation to the pantomime was, 
however, really rather too much for Mrs. Walgrove’s 
patience. 

‘T hear the performance is very stupid,” she remarked. 
“And I do certainly think it strange that you never said 
a word about going, Nellie. I am, I hope, modem in 
my ideas, and I don’t expect my young guests to be tied 
to my apron strings. But I must confess it seems odd 
to me that you went off for the day without mentioning 
the pantomime at all.” 

“You were in bed when I left,” said Cynthia. “We 
only arranged to go late last night, and there was nobody 
about this morning but Mr. Walgrove.” She smiled. 
“And he didn’t seem very conversational at breakfast.” 

“Oh, I am the culprit. Mother,” said Anthony lightly. 
“It was I who suggested the jaunt, so please don’t scold 
Nellie.” He went up to her chair and stood near her. 
“I’m sorry if I spoilt your party though. Mother. I 
thought it was only the Medways.” 

“It was ‘only’ the Medways, as you say,” responded 
Mrs. Walgrove. “But they entertain us very handsomely, 
and I wished to make the luncheon pleasant for Diana in 
return. However, what is done can’t be undone. I trust 
you enjoyed your treat.” 

“It was lovely,” said Cynthia : and with that she went 
upstairs. 

As the door closed, Mrs. Walgrove turned to her son. 

“I know you only mean to be kind, Anthony. But it 

[134] 


CUPID^S RELUCTANT MESSENGER 

would be a great pity if you were to turn that girl’s head 
and make her unhappy afterward. You see, she has 
never been anywhere or seen anything.” 

‘‘All the more reason why she should have a bit of 
fun now, isn’t it?” said Anthony. 

“Now, dear, do be sensible. I am sure you don’t want 
Nellie Walgrove to fall in love with you; and she is 
just the sort to misunderstand. People in her position, 
who have never received any attention, always do make 
too much of any little politeness. It would not surprise 
me in the least to find she expected you were going to 
propose to her.” 

He stood there, smiling at her in that queer way of 
his which she liked and yet could never quite under- 
stand. “Do you really think she is so far gone as all 
that? Perhaps she contemplates proposing to me. In 
spite of her backwoods education, she strikes me as hav- 
ing a very modern mind.” 

“Oh! I don’t care what sort of mind she has! I 
can’t make her out and I am not going to try,” said 
Mrs. Walgrove impatiently. “Your father wished to have 
her invited, and in one way or another we could not get 
out of it : but there is no need for you to constitute your- 
self her champion, and I give you fair warning that she 
will not take your kindnesses as you mean them.” 

“I’m sorry for that.” He was still standing there with 
that odd look on his face. “But, after all, I can’t blame 
her, because I don’t know exactly how I mean them 
myself.” 

“What !” cried Mrs. Walgrove ; but even so she made 
no violent movement. “You can’t possibly mean to tell 
me you have taken a serious fancy to her ?” 

[135] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


“No, not serious. But Tm not at all sure I have not 
taken a comic sort of fancy to her.” He paused. “Fm 
like you, Mother — I can’t quite make her out; and yet 
I’m unlike you, because I keep trying to do it.” 

Mrs. Walgrove went pale and her hands trembled. 
“Anthony! You’re falling in love with her: she is miles 
beneath you: she is not worthy of you in any way. It 
would break my heart, and your father’s too, to see you 
marry any one so utterly unsuitable. Besides you can’t 
afford to marry a girl without a penny. We live up 
to our income, and your father is quite unable to give 

you a large share in the business. Besides that ” 

she hesitated and went on in a low tone, glancing at the 
door. “Nobody knows, not even the girls; but we owe 
a good deal of money, one way or another : a big bill at 
the wine-merchant’s, and another at his tailor’s — and I 
have been obliged to let the grocer’s books run on until I 
am afraid to look at them. Still, there are the girls to 
think of : when they are settled we can economize.” 

“I ought to have been told these things. Why was I 
left in the dark?” he said rather sternly. 

“Your father thought — I believe he was afraid you 
would begin to insist on a different way of living, and 
you know how he likes to appear lavish.” There was a 
faint contempt in her tone. 

“But the girls’ dresses I And that dinner at the Sta- 
tion Hotel the other night ! The whole thing appears to 
me simple madness,” he went on. 

“Your father will never forgive me if you let him 
know I have told you,” she said. “He is peculiar in that 
way, and he will consider I have lowered him in your 

[136] 


CUPID’S RELUCTANT MESSENGER 


€yes. But you see now how impossible it is for you to 
marry a girl without money.” 

“But if I marry one with money, I suppose we can’t 
all live on her fortune,” Re said. “I don’t see that it 
would help the situation much, so far as you are con- 
cerned.” 

“It would be a great weight off our minds,” said Mrs. 
Wdlgrove. “As it is, your father knows he ought to 
allow you a share in the business, and yet he can’t afford 
to do it.” 

“But that would make me dependent on my heiress — 
when I get her. I don’t like that prospect either,” he 
answered. 

“If you really loved the girl, you would not mind,” 
said Mrs. Walgrove. “Some heiresses are pretty as well 
as rich.” 

Anthony shook his head. “Get the fair Cynthia out 
of your mind, Mother. I do not intend to go in for her 
when she comes — if she ever does come ” 

“Why make up your mind like that beforehand ?” said 
Mrs. Walgrove. 

“Because she strikes me as a casual young person who 
is not fitted to make a deserving fortune-hunter happy. 
Mother.” ^ 

“Oh, you make a joke of everything !” said Mrs. Wal- 
grove impatiently. “It is of no use talking to you.” 

He put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m not joking 
about your side of the question, Mother; only my own. 
The last thing you can take from a man is the power to 
jest at his own ill-luck, and I have not got to that yet. 
But I can and will see that matters are put straight for 

[137] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


you. We must sell out certain investments and live 
rather more quietly: that is all you have to fear.” 

Mrs. Walgrove said nothing; but at that moment she 
fervently agreed with her husband that Anthony was 
one of those unfortimate natures who are bound to make 
sleeping dogs bark loud enough for the whole world to 
hear, if they are allowed in at the awaking. She now 
regretted having laid so much stress on a financial posi- 
tion which had not altered greatly since the early days 
of her marriage. But it was too late now to set matters 
right again. Anthony was too shrewd to be deceived, 
once he had got the clue. 

“You’ll say nothing to your father to-night, Anthony?” 
she pleaded. 

“No, I shall not have time, for I must go up now to 
dress for the dinner given by the demobilized Officers of 
our Regiment in Mabingstoke,” he said. “But don’t you 
worry. Mother! Things will shape themselves all right 
after a while. I’ll make it my business to see those debts 
are paid.” 

Mrs. Walgrove sighed. She knew he would. But 
she wished from the bottom of her heart that he were 
not quite so lax where she might wish him to be rigid, 
and rigid where it would be So much pleasanter to have 
him a little easy. 

However, as she had always been niggardly in small 
matters, she considered herself economical, and did not 
blame herself. There were certain things a family of her 
standing must have — she went on the system that the 
best is always the cheapest in the end, priding herself on 
it — but such people are apt to enjoy the best, leaving the 
end to be arranged for by somebody else. 


CUPID S RELUCTANT MESSENGER 

In the drawing-room after dinner she still sat very 
erect with her fancy work, looking more than ever like 
tlie “frozen maid” of Cynthia’s imagination — for she 
remained narrowly immature, in spite of all her expe- 
rience of life — and the remains of her sick headache still 
throbbed behind her temples, rendering her disinclined 
for conversation. 

Mr. Walgrove put on his glasses and read his paper 
for a time ; then, as there was no spectator but Cynthia, 
who did not count, he allowed ’himself to nod comfort- 
ably in his armchair like any other middle-aged man 
verging on the elderly. Feo and Marjorie had gone out 
to play bridge at the house of a neighbour, so Cynthia 
was free to read her book and to pursue her private train 
of meditation. 

The room was so quiet, with only the faint click of 
Mrs. Walgrove’s needle and an occasional snort from 
Mr. Walgrove, that after a while Cynthia began to be 
hypnotized by the little regular sounds and the stillness. 
Her thoughts ceased to move, and she sat there feeling 
as if she might go on like this for ever and ever. Her 
former, coloured, various life seemed the pretence, and 
this the reality. She had to tell herself that it was she, 
Cynthia Rayburn, who sat meekly there in the attitude 
of a poor relation between Mr. and Mrs. Walgrove, for 
she somehow felt her own personality oozing away from 
her in this airless quiet. 

Then came the whirr of a front-door bell, which was 
made to ring in the hall as well as in the back regions of 
the house. Mr. Walgrove sat up with a start, buttoned 
his waistcoat, removed his glasses and prepared to act 
the gay cavalier once more. The whole atmosphere 

[139] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


changed in a twinkling, as if they three had been under 
an enchantment and that ring at the door had broken the 
spell. 

“I do hope it is not any one calling,” said Mrs. Wal- 
grove hastily. “My head is not right yet, and I wanted 
to go early to bed.” 

“Dashed nuisance,” muttered Mr. Walgrove, rising, 
straightening himself and preparing to go forward with 
his usual air of robust gallantry. But it was only Nurse 
in her promenade toilette, who announced in a manner 
purposely amateur, to show that it was a favour that 
she had opened the door at all : “Some one to see Miss 
Nellie Walgrove. I think she says she is a maid.” 

Cynthia jumped up, flushing crimson. 

“Oh, I know who it is. I’ll come.” And she was 
preparing to hurry from the room. 

“A maid! Does your friend keep a maid, then?” 
said Mrs. Walgrove, and it was obvious that she re- 
gretted not having already called on Cynthia’s friend at 
the Station Hotel. 

“Yes,” said Cynthia hastily, very anxious to get away 
and see what had moved Emma to disobey her express 
orders. 

“Is she an old friend?” pursued Mrs. Walgrove. 

“Oh, yes; one of the oldest I have,” replied Cynthia 
over her shoulder. 

“I shall certainly call on Monday,” said Mrs. Wal- 
grove, with her hand to her forehead. “I hope you will 
be sure to explain ” 

But Cynthia had closed the door now and was hurry- 
ing across the hall. On the exact spot where she and 
Anthony had supped together on that first evening in 


CUPID’S RELUCTANT MESSENGER 


Fairyland, Emma now stood, looking less fairy-like than 
anything that could possibly be imagined. There was 
respectability, protest, the visible working of an out- 
raged conscience in every line of her; but Cynthia 
thought it best to try and take the high hand. 

‘‘Emma ! I thought I made it clear that you were on 
no account whatever to come here.” 

Emma pursed her lips and allowed a thin voice to 
trickle through them. 

“I am aware of your orders. Miss. But it was a case 
of Mr. Darnley Miller or me, and I thought you might 
prefer me.” 

“Mr. Miller!” Cynthia stood aghast. “You don’t 
mean to say he is at the hotel?” 

“He arrived this evening: like a roaring lion, neither 
to hold nor to bind,” said Emma, still letting her phrases 
come forth under protest. 

“But what’s he come for? Who gave him my ad- 
dress?” said Cynthia. 

“He had your address from Miss Julia,” said Emma, 
leaving the unnefcessary question about his purpose in 
coming unanswered. 

“Hang Julia !” exclaimed Cynthia. Then with a glance 
at the drawing-room door, she lowered her voice : “I told 
Miss Julia I was at the Station Hotel when I rang her 
up, but I never dreamt of this happening.” 

“No, Miss,” said Emma, non-committal: clearly she 
washed her hands of the affair. “Mr. Miller wanted 
to come up to see you here this evening, but I have kept 
him back so far. I said you were engaged. But it was 
as much as I could do. He’ll be here directly after 


THE GIRL IN FANGY DRESS 


breakfast to-morrow morning, inquiring at the front door 
for Miss Cynthia Rayburn.” 

She spoke more freely now ; and with a certain amount 
of gruesome satisfaction : perhaps this would be a lesson. 

“But he must not come,” said Cynthia earnestly. “Tell 
him I shall be engaged every moment of to-morrow. I 
simply can^t see him. Make him see that I shall be very 
greatly annoyed if he forces himself upon me.” 

“That won’t make any difference,” said Emma. “You 
know what he is. He has come to see you, and he will 
see you — if he has to climb the church steeple after you 
to do it.” 

“I never heard of anything so preposterous, hunting 
me down like this!” said Cynthia, conscious that Emma 
spoke only the naked truth. “What right has he to 
do it?” 

Emma’s silence apparently was eloquent, for Cynthia 
went on more blusteringly still: “Oh! I know that he 
thinks he has. But you are aware, Emma, that Mr. 
Miller and I are nothing more than friends.” 

“Of course, it isn’t for me to express no opinion,” 
said Emma stiffly. “But as you ask me, I thought you 
was having him a month on trial. I understood you 
came here, away from all your friends and things, to 
get matters into the right focus. At least, that was 
what I seemed to understand from Mrs. Rayburn before 
we left home.” Here Emma relaxed into a less dignified 
style. “Your aunt would be in a nice way if she could 
see you focusing on that young Mr. Walgrove instead.” 

Cynthia gazed at the fire for a moment, puzzled how 
to proceed, feeling acutely the difficulty of having a per- 
son to deal with who was a sort of domestic mermaid — 
[142] 


CUPID’S RELUCTANT MESSENGER 


one half old nurse, and the other superior lady’s maid. 

“At any rate,” she said, “I can’t have Mr. Miller here. 
You can tell him that from me. I shall be leaving this 
house on Monday morning, and I will lunch with him 
at the Station Hotel before my train goes.” 

“And me keep him chained up all Sunday at the hotel !” 
said Emma. “It can’t be done. You’ll have to see him 
before Monday morning or he’ll be here, sure as my name 
is Emma.” She paused. “A joke’s a joke. Miss 
Cynthia; but this is going a lot beyond. It has lasted 
so long now, that you’ll make a serious business of it if 
you don’t mind, and then your Aunt will be very angry, 
though she has always been so easy with you. She won’t 
like you having played off a joke on this Mrs. Walgrove 
that she was at school with, for she thinks a lot of her, 
though they don’t ever meet. Your best plan is to make a 
clean breast of the whole affair to-night, and have done. 
You never used to be bad at taking your punishment 
when you’d exceeded the mark — though you’d have been 
better for a bit more of it — and you’ll have to go through 
some unpleasantness now. Best get it over.” 

“Not to-night,” said Cynthia. “To-morrow morning, 
Emma. I’m sure to-morrow will be better.” For she had 
made up her mind to go for a walk with Anthony in the 
morning, when she would tell him the whole truth from 
the beginning; after all, he would probably laugh with 
her, and they would come home greater friends than 

ever She argued thus to herself, not quite convinced, 

when Emma, with bewildering suddenness, turned round 
and presented the lady’s-maid portion of her personality 
once more. 

“As you please. Miss, of course,” she said distantly. 

[143] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


“What message did you say I was to take to Mr. Miller ?” 

“Tell him ” Cynthia broke off and pondered. She 

knew as well as Emma that Darnley Miller possessed 
what his fond mother called character, and his friends 
uncurbed self-will; he was very able and ambitious, and 
could even restrain his temper if absolutely necessary 
for the success of the purpose in hand, as he had shown in 
his courting, and he possessed an undoubted attraction for 
women of all sorts. There was no doubt that the incor- 
ruptible Emma would not have been blinded by the 
golden dross he bestowed on her, even though it does — 
as the Psalmist says — blind almost all men's eyes, more 
or less, if it had not been for his virile personality and 
a sort of animal magnetism which such men often pos- 
sess. She was indeed acting directly as love's messenger 
on behalf of Mr. Miller, though she was not quite con- 
scious of her errand, and certainly did not feel she had 
been influenced by him. 

“I was to give you these chocolates," she added, whip- 
ping out a large box from under her cloak. “They are 
your favourite sort. He is a thorough gentleman — I 
will say that for him." 

“Yes. He’s kind,” said Cynthia in a troubled voice 

as she took the box. “I don’t know " Then her 

glance fell on the telephone receiver and she had an 
inspiration. “Go back and tell him I will speak to him 
on the telephone. But he is on no account to ring me 
up. Do you understand?" 

“He won’t be in," said Emma. “He told me he was 
going out, and wouldn’t be in until late." 

“All right; I’ll speak to him about twelve. Will you 
wait up and catch him as he comes through the hall, if 


CUPID S RELUCTANT MESSENGER 

you can? Tell the head porter you have a message for 
him.” 

“Very well. Miss.” Emma was now immersed in gloom 
again, and spoke as became the perfect maid. “Then I 
shall see you on Monday morning? Am I to pack before 
you come?^’ 

“Yes; and tell them to have the bill ready,” said 
Cynthia. “We shall leave Mabingstoke by the 2.55, 
directly after lunch, and I will write to Mrs. Rayburn 
to-morrow, explaining that we are returning home at 
once. I shall not inflict myself on Mrs. Walgrove after 
I have explained who I am.” 

“You could hardly expect the lady ” began Emma, 

when the drawing-room door opened. 

“Oh ! Good-evening,” said Mr. Walgrove ; then turning 
to Cynthia, he added grandly: “Mrs. Walgrove won- 
dered if your friend’s maid would care for any refresh- 
ment. Nurse is no doubt having some tea and would be 
very glad to see her.” 

“No, thank you,” said Cynthia, casting an agitated 
glance at Emma, for all sorts of terrifying possibilities 
rushed through her mind at the suggestion. Supposing 
Anthony came in earlier than he was expected to find the 
lady who had been introduced to him as mistress now 
figuring as maid. Supposing Nurse got Emma into her 
parlour and began spinning a web of questions from 
which it was impossible to escape. “Oh, thank you 
very much, but I am sure she will want to get back 
immediately.” 

Mr. Walgrove disregarded Cynthia’s intervention and 
once more addressed himself to Emma. “You prefer 
to go?” 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


‘Tf you please, sir,” said Emma discreetly. 

“Then you will tell your mistress when you get back, 
that Mrs. Walgrove hopes to have the pleasure of calling 
on her on Monday?” he continued, not to be deterred 
from impressing himself upon this outward and visible 
sign of an assured income. 

Emma said nothing, and it was plain that she declined 
to be a party to this affair of there being a mythical 
mistress at the hotel. Any chance word, in fact, might 
produce an explosion, for Emma was at the far end. 

Fortunately Mr. Walgrove took her silence for abashed 
consent, and going back to his comfortable seat by the 
fire, left Cynthia to usher her seething handmaid out of 
the house. 

“I suppose you asked for Miss Nellie Walgrove?” she 
whispered, opening the door. 

“No, I didn’t,” retorted Emma. “I wasn’t going to 
let such a lie pass my lips. I said I wanted to see the 
young lady who was staying here.” 

“I am sorry, Emma,” said Cynthia. “I know this is 
all very unpleasant for you. I never thought when I 
started that a simple joke would land myself and you in 
a hole like this. I’ll never do it again, Emma.” 

“You’ve said that so often before. Miss Cynthia,” said 
Emma, softening a little. “It’s what you’ve beeen saying 
ever since you could talk. But you’ll find yourself in a 
box where being sorry won’t put things right again, if 
you can’t remember you are a young lady with a position 
to keep up.” 

Cynthia’s face clouded, and for a few seconds she 
looked unusually grave. “I’m afraid, Emma, I have got 
there now. There’ll be a horrid quarter of an hour to 
[146] 


CUPID’S RELUCTANT MESSENGER 


go through here before I can make them understand 
that it was all a joke.” 

“No wonder,” said Emma. “Nobody could under- 
stand; but I suppose you have let it go on and on until 
you daren’t own up. It’s true what a tangled web we 
weave, when once we venture to deceive!” She paused, 
and added in quite a different tone: “Then I will give 
your message to Mr. Miller. Have you any other orders. 
Miss?” After which, with a discreet Good-night, she 
at last went down the steps. 

Cynthia stood still for a moment, her hand pressed to 
her head. Emma’s change of demeanour had been 
unusually quick, even for her, because the poor woman 
was annoyed as well as seriously anxious about the situ- 
ation in which her mistress had placed them both. 
Cynthia quite realized this, but she almost wished that 
Emma had never been so strictly enjoined by Mrs. Ray- 
burn to remember she was no longer an old Nurse, but 
the “own maid” of a young lady in Society. Those 
efforts to be distantly respectful one minute, followed 
by scoldings the next, were enough to upset a mind that 
was already somewhat crowded with other pre-occupations. 

But it was necessary to go back to the drawing-room, 
and, when there, to listen to Mr. Walgrove’s comment 
upon the unprepossessing manner of the maid, and to 
Mrs. Walgrove’s plan for calling on and entertaining the 
mistress, until ten o’clock. Finally Mrs. Walgrove’s 
headache drove her upstairs, whither she was soon fol- 
lowed by her husband, who was still feeling the effects 
of the previous evening’s exertions. Cynthia had no 
excuse for remaining below, and was obliged to fall in 
with her hostess’s suggestion that a long night’s rest 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


would also be a good thing for her. Then Mr. Walgrove 
opened the door for his guest and turned out the light. 

Cynthia suddenly remembered, as she walked upstairs, 
a queer Early-Victorian book that she had seen years 
ago in the bookshelves at home, called From Jest to 
Earnest, and she tried to remember what the inside was 
about, but could not. In any case, those Victorian maids 
never had a chance to be adventurous like their Georgian 
great-granddaughters, so it did not really concern her in 
the least whether the end of the story were happy or not. 
But she was glad, all the same, to have some vague 
memory of bliss and orange blossoms. 



[148] 


CHAPTER IX 


WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES TWELVE 

The bedroom was cold, but Cynthia wrapped herself 
in the eider-down and prepared to read until about five 
minutes to twelve, when she intended to creep down- 
stairs to the telephone in the hall and fulfil her promise, 
for she knew quite well that no amount of notes or mes- 
sages would restrain Miller from seeking her out before 
Monday morning, unless she did so. Only distinct orders 
in her own voice could avail anything. She must first 
soothe him down with promises of a meeting on Monday, 
and then make it quite clear that if he called on her 
before that time he would be unwelcome. 

As she lay there the book fell from her hand, and she 
began to think about Damley Miller. Could it be pos- 
sible that only last Thursday morning she had almost 
fancied herself in love with him? Had she really been 
at Mabingstoke only since Thursday afternoon? With 
a sudden rush of emotion she felt that the world had 
changed altogether in those three days. She must hav^ 
known Anthony longer than that. Then she experienced 
one of those strange moments in life when people realize 
for the first time things that they have known since child- 
hood. A door in a painted wall seems to open, where no 
door was suspected, and a vista appears. So Cynthia 
realized that the laws of time actually are overcome by 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


the spirit, and that days or weeks do not matter in love. 
She had seen this often enough in her omnivorous read- 
ing, but it had not meant anything to her. Now, with a 
sudden glorious surprise, she took in its uttermost mean^ 
ing. Whether she had known Anthony for three days 
or three years mattered absolutely nothing. 

She lay there smiling and wide-eyed, staring at the 
wall-paper without seeing it until sounds in the house 
disturbed her, showing that Feo and Marjorie had 
returned. It was still early — only about eleven — ^but 
they had played a friendly game of bridge with some 
neighbours who did not care for late hours. Probably 
they, too, were rather fatigued after the previous night, 
for they came up to bed almost at once, and the house 
again lay quiet amid the decreasing hum of» the 
Mabingstoke streets. 

Cynthia began to feel a little nervous about going 
down into the hall, but it had to be done, otherwise 
Miller would be champing on the doorstep like an un- 
tamed steed just as the family came down to breakfast. 
She could imagine his strong voice ringing through the 
hall: “Is Miss Cynthia Rayburn at home?’’ Followed 
by a vigorous assertion that she was there even if denied 
by the maid, and a request for the lady of the house which 
would force an explanation at a most inopportune moment. 
At all risks, she must prevent any chance of that happen- 
ing. Anthony must be told in her own way, and in her 
own time ; then he would understand. But if the ridicu- 
lous facts were thrown at him in the presence of Damley 
Miller, he might take it all wrong. Anthony was still 
mysterious to her, though she felt him so close and inti- 
mate, and that frightened her a little even while it drew 


WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES TWELVE 


her on. She could not be sure how he would like her 
being Cynthia Rayburn and an heiress, though all the 
time she felt it ridiculous to doubt that he would be glad. 
Ordinary common sense proved that a nice girl is not 
less nice when she turns out to have a large fortune. 
But here Cynthia came up against cold doubt again. Had 
Anthony ordinary common sense, or was his a different 
sort ? 

Anyway, an explanation between them in the blank 
breakfast-room, with Miller forming a third and the 
family for an audience, was quite unthinkable. 

She felt worried and nervous when she emerged from 
the room, candle in hand. Involved in this maze of fan- 
tastic happenings of her own creation, she began to feel 
that nothing was solid or certain. But as she crept softly 
down the dark stairs, the old childish stirrings that she 
used to feel when playing at robbers in the wood at home 
began to move in her. The anxious frown between her 
eyebrows cleared, and her lips curled up a little at the 
comers. The old, bright-eyed, half-frightened, half- 
rapturous expectation took hold of her again when she 
heard a tall cabinet give a loud ‘^op” as she passed: 
vague memories of strange animals coming out of door- 
ways in the dark and following her — ^the steps making 

sounds never heard in the daytime When she 

peered into the dimness of the hall she would scarcely 
have been surprised to see a little grey man in a steeple 
cap blowing up the cinders of the dying fire. Cuckoo! 
Cuckoo ! A Swiss clock somewhere in the distance 
struck twelve. She was all ready to follow the bird into 
Fairyland, as she had done when she was little. Then 
the other clock — ^the one with the bronze calf on it — 

[151] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


chimed out clear and sharp. Dreams were dispelled and 
Cynthia went to the telephone. 

Her voice sounded strangely loud as she asked for the 
number and said she would hold the line. Being so late, 
the line was free, and Miller answered almost immediately. 
/ “Yes, Pm so sorry. So good of you to come on pur- 
pose to see me,’' said Cynthia, in a sort of stage whisper. 

“Can’t hear! Got a sore-throat?” he said quickly. “If 
thafs why you want me to keep away I shall come on 
at once, and see that you have a doc ” 

“No, no. Quite all right,” interrupted Cynthia more 
loudly. “Only it’s too late and the household are in bed. 
I don’t want to make a row. They — ^they don’t know 
you are in Mabingstoke at all.” 

She could hear a satisfied chuckle. “Oh, I remember! 
The friend of your Aunt’s girlhood, of course. You 
were to bathe in Mid- Victorian prunes and prisms, and 
the austerely simple life, while you thought things over; 

so I gathered. Well ” His voice changed, and even 

through the telephone she fancied a slight holding of 
the breath. ''Have you thought?” 

“I’ll talk to you on Monday,” she answered uneasily. 

“Cynthia ! You don’t really mean that I am not to see 
you until Monday? Anyway, I shall cbme to-morrow 
on the chance.” 

“But you mustn’t ! You must not I I shall never speak 
to you again if you do,” said Cynthia. 

“Surely the old girl can’t object to Sunday visiting? 
If she does, she had better go back into the Ark and stay 
there by herself. She should not invite girls to stay,” 
he remonstrated. 

“It is not that at all,” said Cynthia. “I am going out.” 

[152] 


WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES TWELVE 


“But you’re not going out to breakfast.” 

“No.” Desperately, Cynthia saw that the picture of 
him raging there on the doorstep while the bacon cooled, 
had been no exaggerated one. “But I am going out 
immediately afterwards. And anyway it would not be 
convenient for you to come here.” 

“I can’t make it all out,” he insisted. 

“Then don’t try!” said Cynthia, suddenly losing her 
temper. “I have promised faithfully to lunch with you 
at the hotel on Monday on my way home and explain all 
about it, but if you can’t possess your soul in patience 
and do as I ask until then, you must do the other thing. 
Only you need not regard yourself any longer as a friend 
of mine in that case. I have given you no right ” 

“Oh, if you take it like that, of course ” His tone 

sounded easier, as if he knew now what all the trouble 
was about — no doubt resented any shadow of inter- 
ference with her independence just at this moment, be- 
cause she was inwardly sure that she had found her 
master. Little, spirited thing! He rather liked it in 
her. “All right. I’ll take a run into the country to- 
morrow, and lunch with a man I know about thirty miles 
from here. Will that do?” 

“I’m sorry to seem so horrid,” said Cynthia, mollified 
at once. 

“Well, I like your horridness better than any other 
girl’s niceness, you know,” he said. 

“I wish ” began Cynthia, when she heard the noise 

of a latchkey rattling in the lock. “Oh, good-night, I 
must go now,” she concluded hastily. “See you on Mon- 
day.” Then she clashed down the receiver into its socket 
and turned toward the door. It would be Anthony com- 

[153] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


ing home from his dinner, just at this unlucky moment. 
Now he would wonder what she was doing, of course, 
and begin to ask tiresome questions. 

But he did nothing of the sort. “Oh !” he said lightly, 
after a brief peering into the gloom lit by her one candle. 
“It’s you, is it? I thought at first it was a house fairy 
dusting the hall while everybody slept. I felt so de- 
lighted on mother’s account — servant question settled, 
you know — for I hoped to induce her to take you on the 
situation permanently.” 

“So sorry!” said Cynthia, suddenly feeling quite 
happy. It was so lovely to have some one think just the 
same sort of things. Had they once played together in 
Fairyland long ago when they were too little to bring 
back any memories? Now Darnley Miller would have 
asked all sorts of stupid questions. “How do you think 
you were going to persuade her to stay?” she continued 
gaily. “No fairy could possibly breathe in this place 
where everything is so expensive and well padded. They 
want little draughty houses with the wind blowing down 
the chimney and red bricks on the floor.” 

“Of course,” said Anthony. “I didn’t think of that.” 

Cynthia looked at him over the candle in her hand, and 
it cast a beautiful rosy lig*ht on the curve under her 
chin, leaving her eyes shadowy. “How would you make 
the fairy housemaid want to stay?” she said. 

He came nearer; and as he looked down at her, the 
pale face with the dark lock of hair on the forehead and 
heavily-lidded eyes also caught the upward glow of the 
candle. “I wish I knew,” he answered. 

“Knew what?” The lights and shadows flickered as 
the candle shook very slightly in her hand. 

[154] 


WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES TWELVE 


“Well He paused and held the other side of 

the candlestick. “The way to make her want to stay.’* 

“How should I know?” 

“Anyway, you shall see me try,” he said. 

She laughed and left the candlestick in his hand. “How 
ridiculous you are !” 

“You’ye been slow in finding that out. My best friends 
have known it for years,” he answered. 

“Still,” she said, “I’m not a bit like a fairy.” 

“No,” he said. “I don’t think you are I” 

She was suddenly grave, looking at him with a ques^ 
tion in her eyes. Was all this delightful nonsense just 
a sign that he did not care enough to ask what she was 
doing down there alone with all the house asleep ? Would 
Darnley Miller’s tiresome, direct questions have denoted 
more real feeling? Was the Whole thing, from begin- 
ning to end, only Pierrot taking hfs pleasure out of the 
passing moment? Was there nothing real in it at all? 

“I must be going upstairs again now,” she said soberly : 
and she gave him a plain fact to reassure herself. “I 
came down to use the telephone. I had ” 

Both started and looked toward the stairs. Mr. Wal- 
grove in soft bedroom slippers and dressing-gown was 
advancing rather cautiously down them. And at first lie 
saw only his son, candle in hand. “Oh, that you, 
Anthony? We thought we heard voices. Your mother 
got nervous and ” He broke off as his more ac- 

customed eyes made out Cynthia among the shadows. 
“Nellie! You here?” 

“Yes,” said Cynthia meekly. 

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. Then he 
tramped down to the bottom of the stairs, switched on 

[155] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


the light and caused the enchanted dimness to vanish in 
an instant. The three people there stood harshly re- 
vealed as an elderly gentleman with his bald place un- 
concealed, a young man in evening dress holding a candle, 
and a girl who was supposed to be in bed and asleep. 
The next instant a fourth person appeared at the top 
of the stairs. 

''Who is down there?** drawled Feo. "What*s going 
on?** 

"Robbery with violence,** said Anthony. 

"Don't be foolish, Anthony,” said Mr. WalgrOve. 

"I came down to speak to a friend on the telephone,** 
said_Cynthia. "Fm very sorry to have disturbed every- 
bodyT’ 

"I daresay you are,** said Feo, rather unpleasantly. 

Then Mrs. Walgrove also emerged, holding her brow. 
"Really, this is most inconsiderate,” she said. ‘You all 
know what a dreadful headache I have had during the 
day, and now I am thoroughly roused I shall have no 
sleep all night. I heard voices, and as I knew every one 
but Anthony was in bed I thought there were burglars 
in the house. That charwoman we had to-day was a 
stranger ; and with so many burglaries about ” 

“Well, I must confess I should have thought your 
friend might have waited until to-morrow,” said Mr. 
Walgrove. 

“Anyway, it seems rather fortunate you were obliged 
to do it just at the time Anthony came home,” said Feo, 
going back toward her room. "Always nice to have com- 
pany when you are telephoning.” 

“If you think I came down here to waylay Anthony, 
you are mistaken,’* retorted Cynthia, flaming out at the 

[156], 


WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES TWELVE 

subtle insult in Fee’s tone. She saw at once what this 
woman thought her — the type of nursery-governess of 
whom one reads in old-fashioned books, who desperately 
pursue sons of the house into dark corridors and shrub- 
beries in the hope of entrapping them into an indiscretion 
which may lead to marriage. For the facts of life were 
known plainly enough to Cynthia, though they rested 
lightly on the surface of her mind because she had not 
yet learned to apply them. 

‘‘What had you to telephone about at this time of 
night?” said Mrs. Walgrove, tall and precise in a dark 
kimono, but with her fringe in curling pins. 

“About going out to lunch,” said Cynthia. 

“Utterly unnecessary!” said Mr. Walgrove, glancing 
uneasily at his wife — ^both began to feel alarmed lest 
their son should really be going to make a fool of hint- 
self about this girL 

“Lunch unnecessary? Oh, I always enjoy my mid- 
day meal,” said Cynthia with unpardonable flippancy ; her 
only excuse being that she had practically never been 
addressed in this tone before. 

“When I requested my wife to invite you to my house,” 
boomed Mr. Walgrove, also beginning to lose his temper, 
“I did not anticipate this sort of thing ” 

“What sort of thing?’' said Anthony. "It is not a 
crime to telephone to a friend at twelve o’clock at night. 
Father. And it was entirely my fault that Nellie re- 
mained down here a few minutes talking to me. I 
wouldn’t let her go upstairs.” 

“Nonsense!” said Mr. Walgrove. 

“Hoow could you prevent her?” said Mrs. Walgrove. 

“I held the other side of the candlestick.” 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


Anthony looked at them composedly and spoke in such 
a quiet tone that they did not realize how angry he was ; 
but Cynthia, who was close to him, could see by his 
lips that he was at white heat. 

‘'Like a farce with a chambermaid,” muttered Mr, 
Walgrove disgustedly. “I didn’t think you went in for 
that sort of thing, Anthony.” 

“I tell you,” said Anthony trying to restrain himself, 
“that I kept Nellie down here, and if you wish to blam^ 
anybody you must blame me. I don’t know what you’re 
all driving at. I think you must be mad. I won’t have 
it. Do you hear? I won’t have her insulted in this 
way.” 

“No one meant ” began Mr. Walgrove : but 

Anthony was not to be stopped. 

“I’ll make Feo apologize,” he stormed. “Mother, you 
ought to apologize. It’s disgraceful! We get a girl 
here, in bad health, unprotected ” 

“No one can say she seems run down now,” inter- 
rupted Mrs. Walgrove, irritated beyond all discretion by 
that bitter experience of a mother when her son first 
leaves her side to defend another woman. “I begin to 
wonder if ill-health was the real reason for her leaving 
her last situation, of if she ” 

“Stop!” interrupted Anthony. “I won’t have it. Do 
you hear? I won’t have it!” 

“Hush !” said Cynthia, pale and distressed at the sight 
of mother and son quarrelling over her. “I daresay it 
did look bad. And you must remember I am a stranger 
to you all. Your mother might naturally think that — I — I 
wanted to flirt with you. It has seemed like that since 
I came here, hasn’t it?” 


WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES TWELVE 


“I won’t have you spoken to in that way,” repeated 
Anthony, breathing quickly. 

‘‘Anthony !” cried his mother in a voice they had never 
heard from her before. “What is this girl to you?” 

“I don’t know yet, Mother,” he said, ominously calm 
all of a sudden. “But I am going to find out to-mor- 
row.” Then he turned to Cynthia. “Will you come 
out for a walk with me to-morrow afternoon ?” 

Cynthia gave one quick glance and slipped past them, 
saying neither Yes nor No. Whatever had to be 
thrashed out between herself and Anthony should be 
done alone, not with Mrs. Walgrove as a spectator: for 
she instinctively knew that Anthony’s calm was only 
rage gone inward, and she would not listen to a repetition 
of a proposal forced out of him by circumstances, when 
he might regret it in the morning. Her own pride re- 
volted at the bare idea of it, even while she glowed at the 
romance of his attitude towards the little governess with- 
out home or friends whom he believed himself to be 
defending. She was bewildered between her thoughts 
about the imaginary Cousin Nellie, she had first pictured, 
the real one whom she had afterwards seen, and that other 
one whom Anthony imagined her to be. A queer sense of 
unreality and confusion went with her up the stairs — that 
slipping away of personality which most imaginative 
people experience at least once in their lives — and she 
seemed to be standing outside of herself, watching all this 
happen to somebody else. 

But the feeling was only momentary, and had passed 
before she reached her own room. Then she was only 
conscious of an intense satisfaction that something had 
kept her- from telling Mr. Walgrove she was Cynthia 

[159] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


Rayburn. Chiefly, because she felt Anthony must not 
be told like that — but also because she was fiercely angry 
with the Walgrove family and glad to let them believe 
for a few hours that their only son had been driven by 
their interference into a foolish marriage with a design- 
ing and penniless young woman. Was that the side 
life turned to girls who were pretty and poor and had 
no one to stand up for them? Oh! when she was mar- 
ried, and middle-aged, and had a house, how decent she 
would be to girls, even those who seemed silly, if they 
had no one to back them up ! 

She walked up and down the room like a tigress in a 
cage at first, but little by little her wrath subsided. She 
recalled once more how Anthony had looked when his 
mother asked what there was between them. Did he 
really love her or not? What would he tell her the next 
day when they walked out together ? As she remembered 
his kisses, and the touch of his long fingers on her hand, 
she felt doubtful. Men who meant seriously by girls did 
not kiss them on first meeting as he had done. Still he 
might believe the same of her, and she had never allowed 
herself to be treated in that way by a man in her life 
before. That was no proof. There was such a thing 
as love at first sight : and besides, he saw in her all those 
fairy-tale girls he had loved the whole of his boyhood 

The spark of light thus kindled began to grow and 
grow until at last it flooded her mind like sunrise, and 
every thought took on tints of rose-colour. He had kissed 
just because she seemed to him the girl he had loved all 
the time. As she lay there, she pictured him at nine 
years old, with his black head bent over the story book, 
and her heart went out to him with a new tenderness. 

[i6o] 


WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES TWELVE 


Dear Anthony! He should have his princess and his 
golden coach and his palace — or the modern equivalents — 
and they would live happy ever after. 

As she fell asleep, it was the smile of a mother that 
curved her innocent lips — the smile which means true 
love : and her last waking thought was of what she hoped 
to give. 


[i6i] 


CHAPTER X 


THE GINGERBREAD HOUSE 

If a person who had never seen the sea before were 
to walk at low tide on sands covered with footprints, 
sand-castles and other signs of human occupation, and 
were then to return in a few hours when they lay blank 
and untrodden by the foot of man — ^he or she might 
share the sensations of Cynthia when she came_down to 
breakfast next morning. For it seemed as if that mid- 
night scene had never taken place. Anthony handed the 
toast to his mother rather more attentively than usual, 
Mr. Walgrove kept mentioning the Sunday paper which 
had not yet arrived, and Chloe, who was allowed down 
to breakfast on this day of the week, engrossed most of 
the conversation. 

Cynthia had no clue as to what had taken place in the 
hall after she went upstairs to bed, but it was clear enough 
that some sort of general agreement had been arrived at 
by the entire family. Was Anthony in it? Or had the 
rest determined to let that queer episode be as if it never 
had been, feeling that opposition would only make An- 
thony more ‘‘ridiculous”? Chloe — who might as a rule 
be trusted to let daylight into any corner that the family 
wished to keep dark — was so engrossed in a contention 
about going to church that she left the world, for once, 
to manage itself unaided. ‘T don’t see,” she repeated, 


THE GINGERBREAD HOUSE 


“why grown-ups should stay at home from church any 
more than little girls/’ 

“I went when I was little, Chloe,” said her mother. 

“Like you ate porridge, but as soon as you needn’t, 
you didn’t,” retorted Chloe. “When I’m grown-up ” 

“Be quiet, Chloe !” said Mrs. Walgrove. “Cousin 
Nellie will take you. Won’t you, Nellie?” 

“Yes, if you like,” said Cynthia, smiling into the frown- 
ing little face that had such a look of Anthony. 

“I don’t see how we can have any fun on a Sunday,” 
said Chloe doubtfully. Then a smile began to glimmer 
in her great, sonubre eyes. Perhaps Cynthia would think 
of something jolly, even in spite of Sunday and church. 
There were no butchers’ carts, of course, but any sort 
of outing with Cynthia seemed to open up a range of 
undreamed-of possibilities. 

Then Grannie spoilt everything by saying: “I think 
I shall go too.” 

And Cynthia, despite her preoccupation, was almost un- 
able to stifle a chuckle; for it was so evident that Mrs. 
Walgrove had followed Chloe’s train of thought, and 
that she also felt an ordinary walk to church and back 
might provide food for adventure. “I really believe she 
thinks I’m capable of standing up in the middle of the 
sermon and throwing my Prayer Book at the parson. No 
wonder, poor woman !” said Cynthia to herself. Which 
conclusion proved that her anger had died down in the 
night, as usual, and that she was able to make allow- 
ances. 

Anthony said not one word to Cynthia which the mdst 
ingenious mind could interpret as a sign of sentimental 
interest. “Marmalade? Won’t you have some more 

[163] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


toast?” Not even the solicitor of Mrs. Bardell could 
have made anything of that; and all his brief remarks, 
passing over the expanse of white cloth, seemed to be 
chilled and sterilized as if they had crossed a frozen plain. 

She put on her hat and coat in a most extraordinary 
state of mind — not knowing if Anthony had actually 
meant to tell her on the previous night that he was going 
to take her for a walk to-day in order to ask her to be 
his wife, or if she had given some absolutely mistaken 
interpretation to a hasty remark. Everything in her life 
so far had seemed so clear and straight — so amenable to 
her arranging — that this sense of powerlessness be- 
wildered her. She fumbled with the buttons of her 
gloves as she came down into the hall, feeling physically 
unnerved and uncertain of herself. 

All the family were grouped near the fire-place in the 
hall, with the bronze clock tick-ticking in the midst of 
them. Feo held the box of chocolates w^hich Cynthia had 
left downstairs on the previous night, and was just open- 
ing it. “I wonder where this came from? Oh, here is a 
'card! Damley Miller! Who’s Damley Miller? Is he 
a friend of yours, Marjorie?” 

“Look!” piped Chloe. “There’s some writing on the 
back of the card.” 

“Oh, pilease,” said Cynthia, hurrying forwardL "Fm 
so sorry. It is mine.” 

“Yours?” said Marjorie bluntly. “I didn’t know you 
had any men friends in Mabingstoke. But perhaps it 
came by post?” 

“It came last night,” said Cynthia, slipping the card 
into her Prayer Book, and she added quickly: “Do take 
them, Feo. I don’t want them.” 


THE GINGERBREAD HOUSE 


“It’s an awfully expensive box,” said Chloe. “As ex- 
pensive as the one Mr. Medway bought Mummy for 
Christmas, and he has oceans of money. Is this gentle- 
man rich, Cousin Nellie? Where does he live? I wonder 
why people talk about having oceans of money, don’t' 
you ?” 

Anthony glanced once at Cynthia’s face, and then 
looked down at his niece. “I can tell you that, Chloe. 
They think albout the bottom of the sea, and imagine all 
the gold that ever was sunk in shipwrecks since the be- 
ginning of the world. That’s why you talk about oceans 
of money.” 

“I do wish. Uncle Anthony,” said Chloe impatiently, 
“that you wouldn’t be so silly.” 

“But all niceness has silliness on its other side,” argued 
Anthony, willing to keep her away from the subject of 
Darnley Miller. “That’s why so many people miss the 
nice silliness.” 

“Mummy,” said Chloe indignantly, “make him talk 
sense !” 

“ ’Fraid I can’t just now, Chloe,” said Feo in her slow 
way, lighting a cigarette, for she knew well enough that 
Anthony was only talking to cover Cynthia’s embarrass- 
ment; also that he was aware of being understood and 
did not care. 

“Chloe dear,” said Mrs. Walgrove, “have you got a 
clean pocket handkerchief? It is time we were going.” 

“Mind you say a word for me, Chloe,” said Marjorie. 

“Here, Chloe,” said Mr. Walgrove. “Here is your 
money for the collection.” 

So they all spoke directly to the child, using her to 
tide over their own constraint as a party of grown-up 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


people very often will do. But at the door, whither 
Anthony had followed the church-goers, he remarked in 
his ordinary tone : “I think it will be fine after all. Still 
inclined for a walk this afternoon, Nellie?” 

The blood rushed to her cheeks, but she forced hersdf 
to reply with a fair imitation of his carelessness: ‘'Oh, 
yes ! I always enjoy a good walk.” 

“Half-past two — too early?” And as she shook her 
head, he added: “I’ll be here at half-past, then.” 

Mrs. Walgrove turned to Cynthia as they walked away 
down the path: “Anthony often goes for a walk on a 
Sunday afternoon. He gets the girls to go with him 
sometimes ; but if any one is staying here, they are glad 
to be let off.” 

“Yes — are they?” responded Cynthia, aimlessly, for 
she was not attending to what she said. 

Supposing, she thought to herself, this public invitation 
to walk had been settled on as a means of putting the 
whole ridiculous affair on the right footing. That would, 
of course, be a sensible and not undignified way out — 
for Anthony and herself as well ; and perhaps it had been 
decided on last night when the first heat of his annoy- 
ance passed off. 

Cynthia glanced at her companion, feeling that Mrs. 
Walgrove could be very tactful and discreet, within nar- 
row limits, when nothing happened to upset her judg- 
ment; perfectly able to either propose or fall in with 
such a plan, and never normally employing such crude 
methods as she had used the night before in her sudden 
anger and alarm. 

She even passed fitting remarks on the road and the 
weather as they went along, though annoyed by her self- 
[i66] 


THE GINGERBREAD HOUSE 


imposed task of seeing that her husband’s tiresome relative 
did not lead Chloe into any mischief or further disgrace 
the family. Butchers’ carts were not available to-day, but 
she felt that this girl might easily find something else 
equally undesirable. 

Chloe, however, filled in the gaps in the conversation, 
and at last Cynthia took her place in the middle aisle, 
feeling that Mrs. Walgrove might well bear a little more 
anxiety, before being rewarded for giving reluctant house- 
room to a country cousin by finding she had achieved the 
heiress without knowing it. Cynthia pictured, rather 
cynically, how original and charming they would all find 
her stupid, practical joke when it suited them to do so, 
and she felt exasperated to think that she had to do 
just what they had planned or give up Anthony. 

But little by little the quiet of the service soothed her 
excitement, and her real sense of humour made her able 
to see, with a certain amusement, how her joke had 
turned boomerang-like against herself. Her aunt Harriet 
had always told her she would one day fall into a trap 
of her own setting, and she had done it now with a 
vengeance. 

After a while she began to dream of the walk in the 
afternoon; and she was unconsciously influenced by the 
evidence of wealth near her, and perhaps by her neigh- 
bours’ thoughts, to feel once more that wealth gave 
people a sort of right to preferential treatment, even by 
the little god who is supposed to be utterly impartial. 
And her gay certainty of herself was so restored before 
they left church, that she was capable of good-humour- 
edly putting Mrs. Walgrove out of her misery, if it had 
not been necessary to tell Anthony first. 


[167] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


But when she got home the pendulum swung bach 
again; for in Anthony’s actual presence, she could not 
help being aware of things in him on which she could not 
calculate. And when, finally, they set out together for 
their walk, she was nervous and garrulous — talking fast 
about everything they saw, without much regard to his 
replies. The afternoon was sunless and the deserted 
streets looked blank and grey in a keen wind ; there was 
nothing to invite sentiment. Cynthia wondered how 
long they were going to walk like this at a round pace of 
four rtiiles an hour, chattering about nothing, with grit in 
their teeth from the dusty wind. Would they just be 
going on and on like this, then turn round and quick 
march home to tea ? It certainly began to look like it. 

At last she grew silent. They were nearing the out- 
skirts of the town now, and a real brook ran by the road- 
side. After a while they saw a little, old red-'brick bridge 
that crossed the brook and led to a garden which had 
been a cottage garden only a few years ago. Lavender 
stalks were there, and box-edgings to the path, while the 
colour-washed house had a door in the middle and a win- 
dow on either side. A woman was looking out of the 
window, and she nodded to Anthony, then appeared at 
the door. 

*'Come in, Mr. Anthony,” she said cheerfully. “So 
you’ve brought a young lady with you ? Are you wanting 
a cup of tea?” 

“This is my cousin, Miss Nellie Walgrove,” he said. 
■“Nellie, this is the very first friend I ever had. She knew 
me when I was going to marry Cinderella, though I never 
told her a word about that, did I, Nanny?” 

“Hear him?” laughed the jolly old woman, leading the 

[i68] 


THE GINGERBREAD HOUSE 


way in. “Always one to talk a lot o- nonsense, Miss 
Nellie. But I can see him now — all crouched up near the 
nursery fender with his nose in a book.” 

Cynthia’s eyes glowed as they met those twinkling old 
ones. She felt she knew exactly how he had looked then, 
too, though she had never seen him as a child. “He’d 
always have that black hair rumpled up on his forehead,” 
she said. 

The old woman looked very keenly at her for a 
moment, then turned away. “Well, kettle’s on. I never 
know when Mr. Anthony’s coming, and when he isn’t.” 

Cynthia spoke to Anthony, not looking at him. “So 
you often bring your mother’s visitors here on a Sunday 
afternoon ?” 

“Not many of them,” he answered. 

The old woman spoke with her back to them. 

“You’re the first. Miss Nellie; only he doesn’t want 
to make you proud by telling you so.” 

“She’s a relation, you see,” said Anthony lightly. 

Cynthia opened her lips, and then closed them again, 
but she wished very much that she had made everything 
straight with Anthony on the way here, for the at- 
mosphere of the little house seemed to make any sort of 
deceit, however harmless, seem out of place. “Fm 
glad you brought me,” she said simply. Then to the old 
nurse : “Anthony and I began by having a meal together 
the first night I arrived. Everybody else was out, so 
we had supper on a little table just like yours before 
the fire.” 

“We played at being a Pierrot and a Goose-Girl,” he 
went on. “It was great fun, Nanny.” 

“Oh, you and your fun 1” chuckled Nanny, putting the 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


teapot down on the table. ‘‘Do you know, Miss Nellie, 
he went on playing he was a horse, and standing outside 
shops on one leg, and neighing when spoken to, until he 
had to be sent to bed for it. You couldn't stop him no 
other. But he ought to have got cured by now, poor lad, 
after all he's been through. It near killed me when he 
was out in the war. Miss Nellie.” And tears came into 
her eyes. 

Cynthia's own brightened with answering emotion, but 
she said lightly: “You didn't punish him enough, Mrs. 
Walker. I shouldn't a bit wonder if he still stands on 
one leg and neighs, when he is by himself.” 

“And he used to give me such names. Miss Nellie. 
(Have a bit of this home-made apple-jelly, do!) One 
time it would be a witch and at another something else^ — 
and no power on earth wouldn't stop him talking to me 
as if I was the one he said. I’m sure I don't know where 
he gets it from. There was never no nonsense of that 
sort with Miss Feo and Miss Marjorie, nor I don't be- 
lieve neither Mr. nor Mrs. Walgrove went on like that 
when they was little, either.” 

“I'm a changeling,” said Anthony. “When I was in 
my cradle ” 

“For goodness' sake!” said Nanny, throwing herself 
back in her chair and laughing heartily. “I do believe 
he’d begin again now, at his age, for tuppence. Miss 
Nellie. I do believe he would indeed. He'd better be a 
horse than a changeling.” 

"You've never seen one,” said Anthony. “You don't 
know what they're like. I do. They are very interesting 
fellows when they grow up.” 


THE GINGERBREAD HOUSE 


“What do they do?” said Nanny. “Plague their old 
nurses* lives out, I expect.** 

Cynthia sat rather silent, listening to the merry talk 
that went on between these two. She was conscious of 
being admitted to a delicate intimacy between this young 
man and this old woman which charmed her and yet 
made her ashamed of having anything to conceal. She 
was afraid of jangling it by a false note. But as she sat 
there, her feeling for Anthony gradually changed from a 
girBs fancy to something far deeper and more lasting. 
He seemed so boyish and kind — not at all the Fairy 
Prince or the Pierrot, but a man who would be very good 
to the girl he married. When they turned to her, she 
could not reply as she would have done at any time of 
her life before this day. Nanny looked at the soft eyes 
and tremulous lips with understanding — even while 
laughing at Anthony*s ridiculous speeches — and almost 
hoped Miss Nellie might be the one, in spite of the lack 
of money. Mr. Anthony was a lad to have his heart 
broken by the wrong wife, even if she were a good wife 
— ^though nobody wouldn*t ever know it. 

When tea was over she went rather stiffly to the 
comer cupboard and brought out a little bag of lavender 
which she presented to her young guest. 

“That*s a sign of high favour, Nellie,** said Anthony. 
“IPs a sign I hope you’ll come to see me again, my 
dear,** said the old woman. “Not that it*ll be here, 
though, because I am leaving this house and going to live 
with my niece. They say Fm too old to live alone, though 
Fm sure I feel hearty enough.** 

As they went away down the road, Anthony said : “Do 
you see why I brought you here?** 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


“I’m glad you wanted me to know her,” said C)mthia. 

He shook his head. “Wrong guess! Try again.” He 
put his hand through her arm and made her stand still. 
“So you like the little house? I’m so glad, Nellie, because 
• — I want you to live in it with me I” 

She started and he could feel her; but he could not 
know how her happiness was clouded by the thought that 
they could never live together in the little house, as he 
had planned. Then she let that go; she would not spoil 
this sweetest moment of her life — which could never 
come back again — ^by arguments and explanations that 
could just as well be made three hours later. She be- 
longed to a generation that takes its fun and lets the pay- 
ing go. But the words that sprang to her lips were quite 
different from any she desired to say. “Oh, Anthony, 
you’re sure you want to? You’re sure you’re not doing 
it just because of what they said to me last night ?” 

“That certainly brought things to a climax earlier than 
I intended. I might have thought I was not justified in 
taking a wife yet,” he said straightforwardly. “But you 
are the only girl I ever wanted to marry. I don’t mean I 
have never felt drawn towards a girl before, but I have 
never wished to marry. I don^t believe men do, as a 
rule, until they want a girl so much they can’t help it. 
It’s different from a girl. She thinks of marriage first 
and finds the man after. Don’t you see?” 

“You’re sure you would have wanted to marry me in 
the end, even without what happened last night?” said 
C)mthia. 

He glanced up and down the lonely road; then put 
his arm round her. “You really are a Goose-Girl! Can’t 
[172] 


THE GINGERBREAD HOUSE 


you see I fell head over ears in love with you at first 
sight?” he said. 

Then a pedestrian appeared in the distance round the 
next comer and their moment was over. “Dash it! A 
man who lives near us,” said Anthony. “He’s short- 
sighted, but not quite short-sighted enough.” And he had 
to let her go. 

“O Anthony, it is so wonderful! I can’t believe it,” 
she said. 

“I’ll tell you the rest to-night,” he said. “But the 
marvellous thing really is that you care for me.” 

“I never expected to fall in love in this way,” said 
Cynthia. “I saw an old book at home, just before I came 
away, called Of Loving at First Sight — and I remember 
thinking, how silly!” 

“I know the book,” he said. “Waller’s lines to the 
Lady would just suit you.” 

‘Some other nymphs with colours faint. 

And pencil slow may Cupid paint, 

And a weak heart in time destroy : 

She has a stamp and prints the boy.’ 

That’s what you did to me, you know.” 

“Did I? O Anthony!” 

They were nearing the short-sighted gentleman now, 
and began talking again to hide their happiness from him, 

“I’m very glad you liked the little house,” said An- 
thony. “Some girls would think it inconvenient and too 
far from the residential part ot the town. You’re sure 
you do like it?” 

“It is the dearest little house I ever saw,” she answered ; 

[173] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 

and almost wished she were indeed going to this yellow- 
washed cottage with a window on either side of the door 
and the green shutters. 

“My father’s grandfather lived and died there, but 
we don’t say much about it,” continued Anthony. “You 
never begin to boast of small beginnings in Mabingstoke 
until your endings are tremendous; and we Walgroves 
have never got beyond the medium. Nanny has lived 
there for the last ten years; but the house actually be- 
longs to me — all the landed property I ever shall possess, 
I daresay.” Then his voice deepened, and she felt a 
note in it penetrate to her inmost heart. “All the time 
we were having tea I kept thinking of you and me there 
by ourselves, Nellie.” 

Nellie — that last word spoilt everything. Should she 
tell him now and get it over? After all, there was noth- 
ing to be so ridiculously afraid of. Anthony could not 
object to finding he had wooed a Goose-Girl and found 
a Princess, with a palace and a coffer full of gold. No 
sane man could — but though she argued thus, she had a 
little, cold doubt in the bottom of her heart that would 
not be dispersed. Then she saw the short-sighted gentle- 
man suddenly wave his stick in greeting. 

“There ! I know what it will be,” murmured Anthony. 
“He has made me out at last, and nothing will prevent 
his turning back with us. He’s impervious to hints. His 
short-sightedness has gone inwards.” 

And truly enough, the pedestrian began to call out 
before he reached them: “Well met! Well met! Now 
we can walk back together. I was wanting to see you. 
Miss Marjorie.” He came a step or two further. “Oh, 

[174] 


THE GINGERBREAD HOUSE 

I beg your pardon. I thought it was Miss Marjorie. My 
sight ” 

“This is Miss Nellie Walgrove, my father's cousin,” 
said Anthony. 

“Yes! Yes ! And how do you like Mabingstoke ?” said 
the gentleman, reassured; for, as it was only a cousin, 
he felt he might join them after all. 

Cynthia replied mechanically, thinking how very 
awkward it would be when the situation had to be ex- 
plained to the Mabingstoke people whom she had already 
encountered. She ought never to have placed herself and 
them in such a false position. It had not been fair, 
either to the Walgroves or to their friends with whom 
she would afterwards come in contact. 

Anthony bore the chief burden of the conversation as 
they walked three abreast through the grey streets. The 
early dusk was beginning to fall, and their footsteps 
clanged drearily along empty pavements where workmen 
thronged during the week. But Cynthia's horizon was 
gradually filling with lovely colours as she walked silent 
beside her lover. Love had never risen over the edge 
of the world before as it was doing now — ^they were the 
first ever to see those subtle tones of rose and violet — it 
had never been just like that for any other lovers since 
the beginning of time — 

So she felt, as Anthony tramped along discussing the 
great tramway question, which was agitating the city, 
with that unconscious old man of the sea ; and so millions 
have felt before. Yet feeling is often a short cut to 
truth, and she had happened on it ; for the dawn of love 
in human life is indeed as everlastingly different as the 
dawn of every day. 


[175] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


“Well, Good-bye! Good-bye! Trust we shall meet 
again,” said the neighbour at last, breaking in upon her 
thoughts. “You must come and have tea with my wife,” 
he added kindly, because he considered her a nice quiet 
girl, who would, no doubt, be fond of knitting. 

Anthony touched her wrist as the neighbour went off, 
and she turned quickly towards him, again experiencing 
the thrill which contact with those long fingers always 
gave her. “I only want to make sure you are real flesh 
and blood,” he said. “I can’t help having a sort of feel- 
ing that we are people in a sort of fairy-tale after all — 
with the last chapter just overleaf.” 

“Can’t you ?” She smiled at him ; then the smile faded 
slowly. “Well, perhaps you’re right,” she answered. “I 
have something to tell you after tea, Anthony.” 

“Why not now?” he said, looking down at her with a 
whimsical smile — ^liking her so and yet tenderly laughing 
at her — which is the attitude that belongs only to the true 
lover. “Foolish Goose-Girl, have you been selling some 
of your eggs to buy yourself a ribbon for the fair? I’ll 
have to punish you to-night.” 

“It is serious,” she said, looking away from him. 


[176] 


CHAPTER XI 


THE UNEXPECTED THAT ALWAYS HAPPENS 

Tea was just over when they went in, and the various 
members of the family were seated about the hall read- 
ing. smoking and eating Darnley Miller’s chocolates. Feo 
wore something clinging and fluffy, while Marjorie’s 
dress was more in keeping with her mental outlook — 
for, like many dull people, she had determined as she 
couldn’t be merry to make rather a show of being wise. 
Meanwhile Chloe kept eating “just one more,” being 
reproved for it sharply but with no deterrent effect, and 
Mrs. Walgrove sat engrossed in a magazine which as- 
sumed that every normal reader possessed maids, motor- 
cars and a Pekinese dog. 

“Had a pleasant walk?” said Marjorie. “I suppose 
you went to see Nanny, did you, Anthony?” 

“Yes. Cheery as usual,” said Anthony. “She and 
Nellie got on like a house on fire.” 

“Oh!” Marjorie glanced at Cynthia. “We are all de- 
voted to her,” which in truth they were — ^though they 
made rather a parade of an old retainer so very present- 
able, 

“A delightful old woman,” said Cynthia mechanically. 
For the atmosphere seemed heavy with the dull things 
they had been thinking all the afternoon, and it weighed 
on her though she was so happy. “I think I’ll go up 

[177] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


and take off my hat/’ she said. And when she came 
down again, the hall was occupied only by Mr. Walgrove. 
But in a few moments there was a ring at the bell and 
he rose hastily, desiring to escape. 

“Ridiculous nonsense, our having thrown the morning- 
room into the hall,” he muttered; “might as well live in 
a cottage with the room door opening on the street.” 
And he left Cynthia to answer the bell, feeling that as he 
was giving her an asylum, with great personal annoyance 
to himself, she could do him that service, at any rate. 

“Is Mrs. Walgr ” began the dark figure on the 

doorstep; then suddenly broke off. “Oh, it’s you. Miss 
Rayburn. So you are still here?” 

“Miss Walgrove !” exclaimed Cynthia, glancing behind 
her. “Oh! I — I — ^before any of them come, I have to 
tell you something. There’s no time to explain, or to 
put it in the right way. But indeed, indeed, I only meant 
it for a joke, and because I resented the way they thought 
they were treating you.” 

Nellie Walgrove pulled away sharply from Cynthia’s 
detaining hand — as well as she might — for the words did 
in themselves sound utterly meaningless. “How could 
they treat me badly when I was not here?” she said. 
“Please tell Mrs. Walgrove at once ” 

“But I can’t tell them till I have explained,” said 
Cynthia desperately. “They— they thought it was you, 
when it was really me, because — because I told them I 
was you.” 

Nellie receded a few steps. “You told them you were 
me! What do you mean?” 

“I know it sounds utterly mad. I’ve no time to ex- 
plain. I’ll tell you everything later on. I only want to 


THE UNEXPECTED ALWAYS HAPPENS 


beg you and pray of you to go away for a couple of 
hours ” 

“But I’m only here for a couple of hours,” interrupted 
Nellie. “I came over with my friends from Midgeley 
for the day. The Vicar was preaching here this morning, 
and we are being sent back by car at six o’clock,” she 
continued, naturally surprised and offended. “I just 
thought I ought to run in and see the Walgroves as I 
was in Mabingstoke. I did not desire to appear rude 
after their invitation, though ” 

“Then you can still go back and they’ll never know 
you have been,” cried Cynthia. “Oh, thank goodness! 
Now I can make everything perfectly right and let you 
know to-morrow before lunch. I promise you I will.” 
And she put her hand on Nellie’s arm, urging her towards 
the door. 

“I certainly shall not go away without seeing the Wal- 
groves, if that is what you mean,” said Nellie very coldly, 
disengaging herself. “There seems to me something very 
strange in all this. You use my name without being able 
to give any satisfactory explanation, and are evidently 
anxious to get me out of the house.” 

“I know it must seem odd. But I swear it was only a 
joke to begin with,” urged Cynthia. 

“I see no joke at all,” said Nellie. 

“Oh! It’s not one now, worse luck!” said Cynthia. 
“The fact is. I’m engaged to Anthony Walgrove, and he 
thinks I’m you, too !” 

But if you really are Cynthia Rayburn, the heiress, 
why didn’t you say so?” said Nellie. “They would not 
have liked you any the worse for that, I should imagine.” 

“Well, I was ” She heard sounds. “I can’t go into 

[179] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


it now. But if you'll only go away quietly, I’ll get Love- 
and — I mean Mr. Henderson — a living. A sure as we 
stand here I will. One that has a house with roses, and 
a study looking out on the lawn ” 

“If you could get him made an Archdeacon, I would 
nol: sell my conscience, nor would he,” said Nellie, ren- 
dered doubly temptation-proof by the conviction that 
Cynthia had no more power to bestow a living than a 
slice of the moon — but meaning it, all the same. 

Cynthia swiftly glanced at the slim, red hand rfiDw en- 
cased in a glove and thought of the chin of Love-and- 
kisses-John. It was perfectly true. Strangely enough 
wealth had no power over these two people, and at was 
vain to cajole or bribe. She threw herself upon the mercy 
of another girl in love. 

“Look here; it’s dreadfully important thaf I should 
tell Anthony myself in my own way. He — ^he’s different 
from some people. I don’t know how he might take it. 
I don’t care about the Walgroves. They’ll be all right, 
as soon as they know, because of the money* But he 

“Oh, Mrs. Walgrove,” cried Nellie, hurrying forward 
as that lady walked precisely down the stairs, “I Can’t 
make out what has happened. I am Nellie Walgrove, of 
course — and yet this young lady says she has pre- 
tended ” 

“Pretended!” ejaculated Mrs. Walgrove aghast, all 
sorts of suspidons rushing thorough her mind Then she 
turned to Cynthia: “Is this true?” 

“Y-yes — at leasi It really is nof as bad as ft 

seems, Mrs. Walgrove. I know I behaved in a perfectly 
ridiculous manner, and I never meant to gO on masque- 
[i8o] 


THE UNEXPECTED ALWAYS HAPPENS 


fading as Miss Nellie Walgrove for more than just tea- 
time — but you know how you get led on from one thing 
to another,” said Cynthia. “Fm really most awfully 
sorry and ashamed. I am indeed.” 

“Who are you, then?” demanded Mrs. Walgrove. 

“I *” Cynthia moistened her lips, and her troubled 

gaze went past Mrs. Walgrove to Anthony, who had just 
come in with his father and sisters from the dining-room. 
“Fm Cynthia Rayburn.” 

“That’s unbelievable,” said Mr. Walgrove. “You must 
think of some better tale than that, young woman.” 

“Oh ?” She pushed back her hair impatiently from her 
forehead. “I never knew what a fool I was until now 
I have to tell about it! Anthony, do, do try to under- 
stand ! I had a motor spill on the way here, and an old 
woman lent me some clothes because I was thrown out 
into a deep ditch and got wet through. My maid was to 
join me at the hotel with the luggage, but I didn’t know 
if she had arrived or not, and so I came straight on here. 
She is the friend whom I have been to see, and if she 
had not been so used to my nonsense she would have gone 
away. You can ring her up now, and she’ll tell you ” 

“Was she the woman you introduced me to that first 
evening at the hotel ?” said Anthony evenly ; but Cynthia’s 
heart fell at the tone of his voice, though she could not 
have told why. 

“Yes. But I — Fd got started being silly then, and I 
didn’t want to spoil our dance, the next night,” she 
faltered. 

“It could have spoilt nothing, surely, to let us know 
you were the girl we were all looking out for,” said 
Marjorie. 


[i8i] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


“What put the idea into your head — you are Cynthia 
Rayburn, that is?” said Feo. 

“Chloe. That is, she quite naturally took me for a 
poor relation when she saw me in those awful clothes. 
And I thought it would be a lark to play at being the 
country cousin. Of course, I had never seen Miss Nellie 
Walgrove. I just did it for a joke, and then it went on 

and on ” She looked round her appealingly. “You 

know how things do go on and on.” But no one, ap- 
parently, did know. 

“There’s something more we have not been told,” said 
Feo. “Did Chloe inform you that we wanted Anthony 
to marry the heiress, by any chance? Because if so, 
and if you really are Cynthia Rayburn, that might make 
you feel inclined to take a rise out of us.” 

“If we ever did mention such a thing, it was only be- 
cause we love our boy and want him to have the best 
of everything,” pleaded Mrs. Walgrove, suddenly so 
humble that it hurt and exasperated Anthony. 

“I know that,” said Cynthia gently. “I do wish I had 
not done it, Mrs. Walgrove.” 

“I still can’t understand why you kept it up so long,” 
said Marjorie. 

“No,” agreed Cousin Nellie. “I must agree that there 
seems to have been no possible object in such a course 
of action.” 

“What was your reason?” said Mr. Walgrove, relent- 
ing slightly from his magisterial attitude. “I can under- 
stand a young lady of high spirit doing such a thing on 
the spur of the moment — not being without experience 
of jokes and so on myself. But to keep it up from 
Thursday to Sunday ” 


THE UNEXPECTED ALWAYS HAPPENS 


Cynthia looked at Anthony, but he did not help her: 
then at the faces where condemnation was being overlaid 
by the hope of favours to come: and, lastly, at the real 
Cousin Nellie, who remained just the same. Well, she’d 
got to blurt it before them all now, instead of whispering 
it to Anthony alone: perhaps that was her punishment. 
“I kept on,” she said, “because I fell in love with Anthony 
on that very first evening — when he took the part of 
the poor little defenceless thing he believed I was, and 

gave me supper before the fire. And — and I thought 

He’s so queer in some ways, you know — I thought he 
might be put off if he knew I was the heiress you’d 
talked to him about. I did so want to have the dance 
with him, just the same. I didn’t want to spoil it all. 
And — and after that, I got so afraid of losing him.” She 
held out her hands with an unconsciously dramatic 
gesture. “Anthony, you can see how it was — can’t you ?” 

“Go to her, Anthony,” murmured Mrs. Walgrove. 
“The dear child! All impulse.” 

He went forward without eagerness, and Cynthia saw 
he was very angry; that his loyalty to his own people 
made for the moment a sort of shield which she could 
not pierce. She had mocked at them for weakness he 
knew them to possess, and there lay the sting. 

“I think you might have told me this afternoon,” he 
said. 

“O Anthony!” she said, and began to cry softly. “I 
was so happy ; I was afraid of anything being different, 
just because I was so happy.” 

“Anthony !” cried Feo. “I think it is beautiful. Don’t 
you see how beautiful it all is?” 

“I consider it utterly incomprehensible,” said Nellie. 

[133] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


Cynthia laughed tremulously, wiping her eyes. “This 
part has been dreadful at any rate.” 

“But it is over now,” said Marjorie kindly. 

“Yes.” Anthony put his hands in his pockets because 
they shook and he could not prevent them. “Thafs the 
best of a fairy-tale. There's always another just aa 
pretty overleaf. I hope your next will be a very sweet 
and happy' one, Miss Cynthia.” 

“Nonsense!” said Mr. Walgrove abruptly. “What are 
you talking about, Anthony? Can't you see she means 
it?” 

Anthony shook his head. “You surely don't think I 
am going to take advantage of a child like this, with a 
huge fortune and all the world before her.” He paused ; 
then turned to Cynthia with an obvious effort. “I blame 
myself. All this is my fault as much as yours. But I'm 
not going to let your whole future be ruined by a silly 
practical joke. I didn't mean to marry you when I kissed 
you that first evening, and I might never have asked you 
but for what was said last night when they foimd us 
downstairs in the hall. Our engagement was a kind of 
accident, and we can both forget it. There is no need to 
offer home and protection to Miss Cynthia Raylbum : it's 
all the other way on. I'm saying this now, so that every 
one will imderstand the affair who knows anything at all 
about it.” 

“Then — then you did ask me because you felt you had 
to?” said Cynthia, 

“Of course not,” interposed Feo. “Anthony only wants 
to leave you free because he finds out he has inadvertently 
captured the affections of an heiress imder his father's 
roof. Just like him I” 


THE UNEXPECTED ALWAYS HAPPENS 

“You know how perfectly ridiculous he is/* added 
Marjorie. 

“I expect he thinks of what people will say,” added 
Cousin Nellie in her cut-and-dried little way. Then she 
turned to Mrs, Walgrove: “It was very kind of you to 
invite me to stay with you, but my friends at Midgeley 
have begged me to remain on there for a time. My plans 
are altered.owing to my engagement.” 

The discreet triumph, with which she brought that out, 
proved, her to be human like the rest, after all, and Cyn- 
thia again felt more drawn to the girl for it, despite her 
own troubles. 

“I have met Mr. Henderson, a clergyman who is certain . 
to do well in his profession,” she said. 

“What I You know him ?” exclaimed Marjorie. 

“Yes,” said Nellie, with some natural bitterness. “Miss 
Rayburn made him miss the Bishop at the Mabingstoke 
Railway Station. She took him into a refreshment-room 
without a clock tO have tea and cake, and kept him there 
until his train had gone.” 

“Ycta make me sound as if I were a film lady decoying 
him to.tiis doom. I didn’t know the clock had stopped, 
either. But I’m awfully sorry it happened,” said Cynthia. 

“Oh, it’s a joke to you, of course,” said Nellie, “but it 
probably means the loss of an appointment to my fiancL** 

“I said I’d make things right, and I will ; I promise I 
wilb" said Cynthia. 

“Rease keep to facts,” said Nellie. “You no doubt 
thin£; money will do eveiTthing, but it will not restore 
io my fiance his lost chance. You may imagine you can 
buy him a living, but he would not accept one procured 
in tliat way, even if it were possible. You had no right 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


to make* fun of us all just for your own gratification with- 
out caring whom you injured; but money makes people 
selfish and callous: I don’t envy you. Fd far rather wait 
and be poor wiJh a clear conscience like John and myself. 
I: ” 

“I’m* sure, my dear,” interposed Mr. Walgrove, bring- 
ing his gallant manner to bear on this inconvenient relative 
of his, 'who stood there perfectly calm, with no heighten- 
ing of colour, no raising of her voice, but an apparently 
inexhaustible stream of words flowing from her — like a 
stone image over a wayside spring. “I’m sure you know 
by this time that people behave unaccountably v(hen they 
are in love. No doubt the excellent gentleman to whom 
you are engaged has already said and done things wihich 
you and he will think foolish twenty years hence. Only 
an unattractive woman fails to understand the follies of 
love.” 

“No amount of love,” said Nellie, “would ever have 
made me dress myself up and pretend to be somebody 
else. But I suppose everybody to their own taste.” She 
paused, glancing at the clock. “I am afraid I must be 
going to join my friends now.” 

“We shall see you again ?” urged Mrs. Walgrove, with 
a sudden access of cordiality. “I hope you will come and 
see us when Cynthia has gone.” 

“Anthony, open the door for your cousin,” said Mr. 
Walgrove, shaking his relative’s hand with unfeigned 
relief. 

When the farewells had been said, Anthony turned 
from speeding the parting guest to see the girls and Mrs. 
Walgrove buzzing round Cynthia like bees round a honey- 
pot. But they were not insincere, as he thought them, 
[i86] 


THE UNEXPECTED ALWAYS HAPPENS 


because her wealth had already thrown a glamour over 
her past actions and they did indeed genuinely consider 
the whole thing to be the spirited escapade of an original 
young woman — such a trick as one reads about in mag- 
azine stories. But Anthony did not realize all this, and 
he felt humiliated by their sudden change of demeanour. 
It hurt his pride, making him more abrupt and cold than 
he would otherwise have been. His first impulse was 
to clear out and leave them to make the best of the situa- 
tion; but a strained note in Cynthia’s voice, though she 
seemed her gay and undaunted self, caused him to stay 
where he was. A final explanation would have to come, 
and the sooner the better. 

Even now Feo was paving the way for the inevitable 
interview between Cynthia and himself. “Well, I sup- 
pose it is time I went upstairs to say good-night to Chloe,” 
she remarked. 

“If you don’t, you’ll have her downstairs in her night- 
gown before you know where you are. Chloe isn’t the 
sort of lady who waits where she’s put,” said Marjorie. 
And she also moved towards the stairs, just as a small 
figure rounded the turn towards the upper landing. “Oh, 
what did I tell you ?” 

“Go back to bed, Chloe; Grannie will come to you,” 
said Mrs. Walgrove. But sharp little Chloe detected the 
signs of good temper in everybody and presumed upon 
them, capering cheerfully on as if nothing had been said, 
and calling out as she came: “Cousin Nellie! Cousin 
Nellie ! Nurse says you’re somebody else. Are you some- 
body else?” 

The group advancing toward her stood stock still. 

[187] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


“Nurse exclaimed Feo. “What does Nurse know about 
it? Where did she hear anything?” 

“We both did,” said Chloe candidly. “On the way to 
the bathroom we stopped because we heard such a talk 
going on down here. You can^t help hearing things on 
the way to the bathroom unless you put your fingers in 
your ears!” 

“This preposterous hall-sitting-room!” ejaculated Mr. 
Walgrove. “They have been hanging over the bannisters. 
I always disliked it, though you would insist upon it, 
Millicent.” And he felt almost glad it had proved a 
nuisance, because his wife had so ruthlessly used her 
weapon of superiority to obtain it, hinting that she had 
always been accustomed to such country-house amenities, 
while he, of course, was not. 

“Well,” said Cynthia, coming forward. “You’ll have to 
remember the new name, Chloe. I’m not any different, 
you know.” 

“No,” agreed Chloe, “but they won’t so much mind 
you being like that now. Nurse says, because you have so 
much money.” 

Cynthia laughed, then saw the frown on Anthony’s 
brow and flushed a little. Of course, it was perfectly 
horrid, really. 

Feo spoke sharply. “What nonsense you talk, Chloe !” 

“Why is Nurse at home on a Sunday night?” said 
Marjorie, changing the subject. 

“Oh, she has a cold, and preferred going out this morn- 
ing instead,” said Feo. 

“She talks to Chloe a good deal too much,” said Mr. 
Walgrove. 

[1881 


THE UNEXPECTED ALWAYS HAPPENS 


“Hush!” said Mrs. Walgrove, glancing up the stairs. 
“She is most dependable. Go back to Nurse, Chloe.” 

“But is it true Cousin Nellie — I mean Cynthia — ^is go- 
ing to marry Uncle Anthony ?” said Chloe. 

“We hope so,” said Feo. 

“And did he know all the time she was a rich lady?” 
Chloe persisted. “Nurse says he ” 

“Of course not,” said Feo. “Go upstairs at once.” 

Something made Chloe feel that her mother meant it 
this time, so turning tail she at once began to climb back 
to the upper regions saying as she went: “I told Nurse 
it was a real secret” 

There was a pause, everybody hoping Anthony had 
not noticed; then Feo followed her daughter, the other 
menubers of the family quietly disappeared under various 
pretexts, and Anthony and Cynthia were left alone. 


CHAPTER XII 


SEE-SAW 

Cynthia watched Anthony as he stood near the mantel- 
piece with the firelight on his black hair and pale face. 
She had no clue as to what he was thinking, but she 
feared. It seemed to her that the other Anthony whom 
she loved might be receding under her very eyes into 
those places where she could never follow, and she not 
sure of it until she tried to find him. The silence grew 
oppressive, empty no longer, but charged with all sorts 
of things which hovered and could not be clearly seen — 
influences that drove her back from the boundaries of 
that retreat to which he had somehow strangely with- 
drawn. At last she could bear it no longer. 

“Anthony,’^ she said, “the others have forgiven me and 
I have injured them most; can’t you?” 

He shifted his position and looked down at her gravely. 

“What for? For thinking you loved me, Cynthia?” he 
said. Then he glanced towards the stairs. “I wonder if 
Nurse is still employed in wearing out that carpet between 
the nursery and the bathroom. Shall we go and sit over 
there, out of her range?” 

He pulled forward a chair shaded by a screen and sat 
down beside her. “You must see that what you have told 
us changes the situation,” he said. 

“Yes,” said Cynthia quickly, hurt by his attitude. “You 
[190] 


SEESAW 


are generous enough to give, but not generous enough to 
take — is that it ? When you thought I was the poor little 
dependent who needed your protection, you were all right, 
though you knew you were imprudent : for you saw your- 
self as the Fairy Prince and me as Cinderella. But can't 
you make up your mind to be the wandering Younger 
Son who gets a Princess? I can understand your being 
angry with me for the trick I played on your mother, but 
surely you can't want to punish me for that by making me 
unhappy all my life.” 

“If I thought I should do that — he said. “But I 
know it is not so.” 

“You didn't think that when we walked home from the 
little house two or three hours ago. I have not changed 
since then,” she answered. 

“Perhaps not, but I did not see you as you were,” he 
said. “I thought you needed taking care of, Cynthia.” 

“Oh! You needn't pretend!” she cried. “I won't 
believe you did it, only for that. You did fall in love with 
me. Have you forgotten what you said about loving at 
first sight?” She had risen and stood back from him, 
glowing and with eyes aflame. “No!” she concluded 
triumphantly. “You remember. Anthony, how could you 
be so mean as to try and deny having ever loved me ?” 

“I don’t deny it,” he sighed. “We have both been living 
for three days in a sort of fairy-tale, and now we have 
fallen with a bump into real life. It was delightful — it 
always will be the most delightful memory of my youth, 
I expect — but it was unreal, Cynthia.” 

“Anthony !” She strained after the other Anthony who 
was going so swiftly beyond hail. “You know the unreal 

[191] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


things are the real ones nearly always — I don^t need to 
tell you that.” 

He shook his head. ^Terhaps — while you’re in it — but 
when you’re once out of it ” 

The pause seemed to fill the room — ^to press round her 
until she could hardly breathe. “This is what I alwa3’’s 
knew,” she said in a low voice. “You wondered why I 
stayed on so ridiculously from hour to hour, always mak- 
ing up my mind to go and yet not going, when a few 
words would have made everything plain and easy. We’ll, 
I’ll tell you. I see myself, now. I was afraid of this 
happening. But I thought when I once had you, you 
couldn’t go.” 

“I took advantage of your quick imagination,” he said 
heavily, for his mind had ceased to follow hers, and they 
were saying meaningless things to each other across a 
void, as they had done at the theatre. “It was all very 
well to cover my design up with fairy nonsense, but I 
ought not to have made love to you that first night, as I 
did. You were only a child, at the mercy of the first man 
who knew how to get near enough to kiss you and was 
cad enough to do it !” 

“Oh, stop ! stop !” said Cynthia, in a low voice. “Why 
do you see it like that now ? Don’t spoil my memory of 
you. That’s even worse than losing you. You had no 
more design in doing what you did than I had. Why 
accuse yourself of such odious things?” 

“It’s true,” he said. 

“No,” she answered. “Not for you and me, as we 
were then. O Anthony! How can you let my money 
change everything like this? You think you despise it, 
and yet you are more affected by it than any of them. I’d 


SEE-SAW 


give it all away if I could, and if it would do any good. 
But you can't want me to behave like a stupid person in 
a second-rate movie. That’s not the sort of unreality that 
is ever real ” 

“You know I don’t,” he said. “Such an act of folly 
would make my position absolutely intolerable. Even if 
we married, I should have to go through life feeling I 
had done you a great injury. Every single time I saw 
you short of money, or bothered about household things, 
I should have to know it was my fault.” He paused, then 
went on — for there is no one so brutally clear-sighted as 
the man who has just come out of glamour — “I should get 
to hate you.” 

“You never loved me,” she answered bitterly. “It was 
the other Anthony. The one I shall never see any more.” 
Then she got up and walked away across the hall. 

He watched her go, and once she quickly looked back at 
him. She reached the foot of the stairs. It seemed to her 
impossible that he should let her go like that. She went 
up one step. He must follow her. She mounted another. 
Now he would call. She strained her ears with listening, 
but would not look round again. At last she heard his 
voice speaking softly at the bottom of the stairs. “Can 
you come down again for a minute? I’m going out to- 
night, and perhaps you will not be down before I leave in 
the morning. I expect you will be going away to- 
morrow ?” 

She turned and came slowly down until they stood close 
together. “Yes, I’m leaving to-morrow morning. I had 
already arranged to do so before ” 

She paused, and the tears which she could not keep 
back came into her eyes, though she tried to keep her 

[193] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


voice steady. For in spite of her love and regret there 
tvas a thread of tinsel which was so twisted up with her 
life that she could not escape it — a feeling of offence that 
she should not have all she wanted when she was so well 
able to pay. 

“You’re unhappy now,” he said. “But, believe me, in 
a few months’ time this will seem just like a dream. The 
time has been so short. You were pretending to be 
somebody else all the while. Before next year it’ll seem 
just like a play you once acted in. No more than that.” 

She stood looking down, touching the carpet with the 
point of her toe ; then she stopped doing it and looked up 
at him. “And you? What’ll you be thinking then?” 

“Much the same, I expect,” he answered baldly : adding, 
as if the words came in spite of himself : “I shall always 
want you to be happy. You seem made for happiness.” 

“Then you want me to forget you ?” she said. 

There was a slight pause ; she saw his profile very stem 
and clear against the wall. “Yes,” he answered; “that’s 
the best thing you can do for us both.” 

But the deep sadness could not be kept out of his voice, 
and to Cynthia those undertones sounded like joy-bells 
ringing so loudly that they hurt. She went very white 
and seized his hand in h^rs. “O Anthony ! How can you 
be so cruel ? You’ll spoil both our lives for nothing. I 
shall never marry if I don’t have you, never! You’ll just 
have to think of me as a lonely old maid, getting sourer 
and sourer ” She broke off, half-laughing, half-cry- 

ing. “You know we couldn’t either of us ever think of 
anybody else. You know we couldn’t, Anthony. If I 
thought I’d forgotten you and was going to kiss some- 
body else, it would all rise up again in a minute directly 

[194] 


SEESAW 


they touched me. So you see ifs no use. You’ve got to 
have me, because you’ve made me belong to you and I 
can’t take myself back.” 

“You think so now,” he said, taking his hand away, but 
not before she had felt it tremble. “In time you’ll come 
to feel differently.” 

“Never!” she said. “I have never cared a scrap for 
any other man in my life, though there was one I thought 
I might marry before I came here. That was one reason 
why Aunt Harriet wanted me to stay with Mrs. Walgrove. 
She imagined it would all be rather quiet and simple here, 
entirely different — and that I could make up my mind 
better than when I was doing the ordinary round.” 

“Then you did think of marrying this man?” said 
Anthony. 

“Only because he was suitable and made such a terrific 
point of it,” urged Cynthia eagerly. “I thought I must 
marry some time, and I didn’t seem any good at falling in 
love. I thought I was not that kind.” 

“But what about him ?” said Anthony. 

“Oh, he quite understood,” said Cynthia. ‘'He rather 
thought I was not that kind too.” 

“O Cynthia!” said Anthony, smiling at last. “You 
ridiculous Goose-Girl! No man ever could think that of 
you. You’re made for love.” 

“Don’t 1” said Cynthia, suddenly beginning to cry heart- 
brokenly. 

“Don’t what ?” asked Anthony. 

“Why, smile at me in that awful way as if it hurt you 
inside — and all for nothing. I c-can’t — bear it.” 

“Hush, dear! Now!” He put his arm round her and 
drew her head against his shoulder. “I can’t bear to see 

[195] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


you cry like this, either. We shall have to think out some- 
thing different. Look here, how would it be if you were 
to let me know at the end of a year — supposing you still 
feel as you do now? Neither of us would be bound in 
any way, but we could meet again and talk things over. 
How would that be?” 

“You're saying that because you don’t believe I ever 
shall write,” answered Cynthia. “You just want to let 
me down easily. But I don’t care. You’ll find out.” She 
paused, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. “How 
can you be such an obstinate, awkward person, when you 
know you really are fond of me, Anthony?” 

She felt his grasp tighten : then the sudden whirr of the 
telephone close at hand caused them to spring apart. 
Anthony went to the telephone. 

“Yes! Yes! Miss Rayburn is here. I’ll tell her.” He 
turned to Cynthia. “Mr. Darnley Miller wants to speak 
to you.” 

She flushed deeply with surprise and annoyance. “When 

I told him ” she said, taking the receiver. “Yes, I 

am still here: but I thought it was arranged Oh! 

Never mind : business first, of course. See you when I 
get back to Aunt Harriet’s. No ! No ! It is not the slight- 
est use your coming up to-night. I am engaged. We 
couldn’t possibly have any talk together. Good-night.” 
She hung up the receiver and turned to Anthony, crim- 
son-cheeked and speaking with nervous quickness. 

“A neighbor of ours who is staying at the Station 
Hotel. He wanted to come up to-night, but I couldn’t be 
bothered with him. I had promised to lunch with him 
to-morrow, but he finds he has to leave early in the morn- 
ing on some important business.” 

[196] 


SEE-SAW 


“He seemed very anxious to see you,” said Anthony. 

“Oh yes. But his motto is : 

‘I could not love thee, dear, so well, 

Loved I not business more.’ 

He always thinks what he can buy for a woman out of 
the profits is the best means to win and keep her affec- 
tion. He will express himself like this — ‘Rolls-Royce, I 
love you ; diamond and sapphire set, I adore you ; a house 
in Grosvenor Square, my heart is yours for ever.’ Im- 
possible to misunder ” 

“Cynthia,” he interrupted, checking this flow of nervous 
nonsense, “how long has this man been at the hotel?” 

“Only since yesterday afternoon.” 

“He’s the one you came here to — ^to consider, is he ?” 

“Yes,” admitted Cynthia. “At least, I believe I liked 
him ; and — until I met you — there seemed no reason why 
I shouldn’t take him in the end. But Aunt Harriet must 
have seen I didn’t really care for him, or she would never 
have made such a wild plan as sending me here out of the 
way of everything to think it over. You see, she’s not so 
awfully old herself — not for a great-aunt, because she 
became an aunt when she was eight. And I rather fancy 
she muddled her own love affairs somehow when she was 
young, though she married Uncle Rayburn and they were 
quite all right. But I daresay she looks back now, and 
realizes that being quite all right is not enough.” 

“So it was to him you were telephoning when I came 
in last night ?” pursued Anthony. “What made him ring 
you up at an hour when everybody was prestimably in 
bed?” 


[197] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


“He didn’t I rang him up,” said Cynthia, becoming a 
little defiant. “And I did it at that hour because I didn’t 
want any one to hear me. It’s not my fault that you have 
your telephone in a spot like a market-place.” 

“How did you know he would be about?” pursued 
Anthony. “I suppose Emma arranged it when she came 
last evening in the character of your friend’s maid?” 

“Yes, she did,” said Cynthia. “Oh, don’t be so judicial, 
Anthony ! Can’t you realize that I did it all because I was 
afraid of putting you off? I somehow felt from the first 
how tiresome you could be, you see. But you ought to 
be very glad indeed that I did come downstairs last night 
to ring up Damley. Otherwise you and I would never 
have been found in a Mid-Victorian state of impropriety, 
and your people would never have said things — and you 
would never have stepped gallantly forward like a hero 
by Miss Charlotte Yonge, to defend my honour!” She 
put her hand on his arm and smiled up at him. “Silly old 
boy ; can’t you see how splendidly it has all worked out 
for the best? I know, for certain, what every rich person 
wants to be convinced of ; that you loved me for myself 
alone. You’ve given me that in life, above and beyond 
what I had every right to expect. I’ve really known the 
happiness of being Cinderella in addition to all the rest. 
You’ve given me more than my share, Anthony.” 

He looked down at her, doubtful and troubled ; moved 
by the delicate pleading as any man of imagination must 
have been, and yet not knowing how far he could trust 
her — or rather, how far she was deceiving herself under 
the influence of a passing emotion. Was it just the 
romantic fancy of an undisciplined girl who was uncon- 
sciously ready to do anything to get what she wanted — 

[198] 


SEESAW 


pricked on by the unusual sensation of being denied ? He 
was not going to take advantage of a state of mind pro- 
duced by behaviour on his own part which would have 
been most unscrupulous, had it been calculated. 

“Cynthia,” he said at last, “we must not do anything 
in a hurry. Let it be as we arranged. You are as free 
as air — ^but if at the end of a year you care to write to me, 
I promise to come to you and talk things over again. If 
you don’t, I shall perfectly understand. The whole thing 
will be a little episode which you have every right to for- 
get. I shall not consider I have the s'lightest reason to 
feel injured if I hear you are engaged to another man. 
You thought a week ago you might marry Miller ; now you 
believe you wish to marry me. Very likely it is just that 
you are generous-hearted and want to be kind. More 
girls marry for that reason than any one knows.” 

He was so anxious really to leave her free — ^not to in- 
fluence her by any emotion of his own — that his words 
sounded far colder than he dreamed of. 

“You mean,” said Cynthia, growing very white, “that 
because I let you kiss me so easily I should let another 
man do the same. Well — ^that’s what girls are always told 
to believe of men — ^that they judge by that standard. Now 
I see it is true.” 

“Not in my case,” said Anthony. “You are absolutely 
mistaken. I couldn’t be so disgustingly ungrateful and 
ungenerous.” But his words had the sounding emptiness 
of those we shout out to convince ourselves by their loud- 
ness, for he knew in his inmost heart that she had hit the 
truth — that he was not exempt from that universal rule. 

And she was not convinced. “No good, Anthony,” she 
said sadly, her spurt of anger dying down. “We must 

[199] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


just leave it. I can’t do any more.” She paused, glancing 
towards the dining-room door. “You’d better tell them at 
once that everything is off, hadn’t you ?” 

He flushed all over his face — a most unusual thing for 
him, with his thick pale skin. “You’re right. It’s as well 
for them not to have more triumphant announcements to 
throw into the fire than is absolutely necessary,” he said ; 
bitterly aware that Cynthia must have noticed the quick 
change of attitude on the part of his family — that sudden 
flop upon the knees before the golden calf. 

“You might say I shall be leaving directly after break- 
fast for the hotel,” she continued. “I shall settle up there 
and leave by an early train. Perhaps your mother won’t 
mind if I stay in my room to-night.” 

“Without any supper?” he said. “You needn’t do 
that,” he added quickly. “I’m going out.” 

“Without any supper!” she echoed, ja streak of fun 
flashing across her mind, though she was so miserable. 
“Oh, of course we can’t either of us be so silly. We be- 
long to the twentieth century, where people have more 
common sense in some ways than they used to have, 
though they may not be so picturesque. Let us both eat 
a good supper, and think how much more agreeable it is to 
be Anthony and Cynthia than Romeo and Juliet.” 

But just then Mr. Walgrove solved the question by 
coming out from the drawing-room. “We can’t expect 
you to care about the flight of time, Anthony,” he said in 
his best manner. “But your mother informs me the 
supper has been waiting fior half an hour, and we ordinary 
mortals feel we could do with a little cold beef.” 

“All right. Just come back to the drawing-room a 


SEE-SAW 


minute/’ said Anthony ; then, following his father in, he 
shut the door. 

About a quarter of an hour later, the gong sounded. 
But when Cynthia came down from her room to join the 
family party, and to meet — as she feared — useless dis- 
cussions and remonstrances, it became evident at the first 
glance that Anthony had somewhat managed to seal their 
lips on the subject. Partly, as she rightly surmised, by 
appealing to their affection for him, which was real 
enough to make them exercise unusual self-control; but 
also perhaps by allowing them to believe that if they 
wanted a wealthy sister-in-law, their only chance of 
getting one was to leave Cynthia alone. 

At, all events, they did behave with almost superhuman 
discretion: Mr. Walgrove’s gallantry was restrained 
within the narrow limits of pressing on her the juiciest 
slice of beef, and being active with the mustard, while 
Mrs. Walgrove talked of Mrs. Rayburn and gave all sorts 
of little personal histories for Cynthia to retail when she 
reached home next day. Feo made little drawling re- 
marks about Chloe’s fondness for Cynthia — praising 
under a cloak of seeming to find fault — and Marjorie 
was quite genuinely cordial, for she felt already that she 
had really always at the bottom of her heart liked Cynthia, 
and that she could soon love her like a sister. 

So after supper they all sat quite comfortably together 
in the hall again, talking about the journey in the morning, 
hoping it would be a fine day, wondering if the snow- 
drops would be out yet. As Cynthia listened and answered 
— listened and answered — ^with Anthony’s pale face in the 
distance, and the Cuckoo clock striking the hours, and the 
place growing hot and airless with the radiator as well as 

[201] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


the fire, she began to think that if Dante had ever known 
such an evening he would have added another circle to 
hell. To go round and round in a hot place lighted by 
electric light, with your head bursting — constantly listen- 
ing to, and answering futile questions and a clock going 
Cuckoo! Cuckoo! At last Feo suggested bed, and that 
mercifully put an end to it. 

The strain had been so great that solitude was at first 
such a relief as to seem almost like happiness. But little 
by little the deeper ache in her heart made itself felt, and 
she began to think that even if she did end by marrying 
Anthony, she could never be sure of him. He might 
always retreat — that Other Anthony whom she loved — 
into some remote world of the spirit, leaving her to find 
out he was gone only because she could not touch him. 
The whole thing was confused, unhappy, strange; she 
longed for next day when she could get away home. 


[202] 


CHAPTER XIII 


AN EPISCOPAL EPISODE 

Cynthia was in the taxi on her way to the Station 
Hotel ; and for the moment she did not even think of that 
odious parting with Anthony over a half-eaten egg at 
breakfast time, because she was so intensely thankful to 
be free from Mrs. Walgrove’s tearful embrace on the 
doorstep. For at the last moment that poor lady had been 
quite overcome by seeing so much money go out of the 
family, and had frankly wept. “Dear Cynthia — so high- 
minded but always so tiresome — still IVe cared for him 
more than them all put together. He would never forgive 
me if he thought I had said a word, but I can’t help it. I 
don’t know what you have quarrelled about, but I know 
he loves you, my dear.” 

Cynthia had murmured something non-committal and 
escaped to the taxi, feeling more uncomfortable than ever 
before in her life, so that her heart still thudded and her 
feet were cold when she reached the hotel bedroom, where 
Emma stood by the window with red eyes and an open 
newspaper. 

“Good-moming, Emma,” she said, feeling the selfish 
annoyance the kindest experience on being confronted by 
somebody else’s worries when they are full to the brim -of 
their own. “I am sorry to see you are in trouble.” 

“Thank you, Miss, it is nothing of any importance,” 

[203] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


sniffed Emma — so entirely the perfect maid that Cynthia’s 
heart failed her. 

‘‘Look here, Emma,” she said. “If there is anything 
really wrong, tell me ; you know I shall be sorry. Other- 
wise, there really is not room for two afflicted souls in this 
apartment.” 

Emma took up the paper and smoothed it, placated by 
Cynthia’s tone, but too engrossed in her own affairs to 
grasp the allusion to her mistress’s perplexities. “You see 
that announcement in the deaths: ‘Samuel the beloved 
husband of Mary Harboard.’ Well, it might have been 
me. 

“But you’re surely not crying because you’re not dead ?” 
said Cynthia. “I’m feeling pretty horrid, but even I have 
not got to that.” 

“I mean, of course,” said Emma, “that I might have 
been the one to put the announcement in. We were nearly 
engaged when I was a young girl, only it didn’t come off. 
People all used to think he’d say ‘Snip’ if I said ‘Snap’ !” 

“But you didn’t?” said Cynthia, mechanically, staring 
with a sense of heavy depression through the window at 
the poster on a wall opposite, advertising a hal masque to 
take place that evening on>behalf of the dependents of 
Mabingstoke men who had fallen in the War. 

A girl in a yellow domino and a mask made a patch of 
bright colour in the pervading drabness. Gradually it re- 
called to Cynthia’s mind that this entertainment had been 
one of the inducements held out to her by the Walgroves 
to remain at least one more night. She smiled bitterly to 
herself. Indeed she was in no mood to watch Mabing- 
stoke playing at Carnival. Then she became aware that 
Emma was speaking. 

[204] 


AN EPISCOPAL EPISODE 

“And so, of course, I couldn’t do any more, Miss Cyn- 
thia, could I? It’s no use going on saying ‘Snap’ when 
the other one won’t say ‘Snip.’ So I told him in the end I 
wouldn’t have him if he was the only man left. He was 
rude back, but he’s gone now to where such things don’t 
matter, and I shall always think somebody made 
mischief.” 

“Poor Emma !” said Cynthia, rousing herself to speak 
kindly — for she had imagination enough to know that this 
middle-aged woman was trying to fill up a blank space in 
her memory where young romance should have been. “I 
daresay you are better off as you are. He would, no 
doubt, have turned out odious.” 

“He did from what I can hear,” said Emma, “but you 
can’t help feeling things.” Then she sighed, dismissing 
the subject. “Shall I see about the luggage being taken 
down. Miss? If you wish for any refreshment before we 
start, there is a tea-room on the platform.” 

“Tea-room on the platform ” The words echoed 

in Cynthia’s mind blankly for a moment before the con- 
nection that caused an inner discomfort became clear: 
then she exclaimed aloud : “Goodness ! Love-and-kisses- 
John! Emma, I can’t possibly go by this train. I must 
wait until the next. Did you wire to Mrs. Rayburn?” 

“No, Miss,” responded Emma. “Our plans have been 
changed so often I thought it wiser to postpone wiring 
until the luggage was on the platform. Mrs. Rayburn 
said I was to remember I was a maid and not a keeper, 
and I have: but I do think when she spoke them 
words ” 

“She was put out at the time,” said Cynthia. “You 

[205] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


know what a lot she thinks of you. You shouldn’t let a 
little thing like that rankle.” 

‘Dh no, Miss,” said Emma. 

‘‘What’s the good of saying ‘Oh no,’ with injury simply 
sticking out all over you like — like the arrows on that 
saint you see in picture galleries whose name I forget?” 
cried Cynthia, exasperated. “I’m worried to death my- 
self. I’m just as anxious to get away from this beastly 
hole as you possibly can be.” 

“I don’t know what’s been going on, I’m sure, these 
last three days,” said Emma agitatedly, “I can’t make 
head or tail of it, but I feel it my duty to mention ” 

“Mention anything you like, Emma,” said Cynthia, “but 
order me a taxi now at once. I am obliged to go and 
call upon the Bishop of Mabingstoke.” Then she saw 
Emma’s dropped jaw and in spite of her exasperation 
and unhappiness began to laugh. “I’m not going to try 
and lead the Bishop astray, Emma. I believe he is a 
married man with a hooked nose and six children.” 

“I give it up,” said Emma, walking towards the door. 
“But another time Mrs. Rayburn must find you some- 
body else to go away with. The responsibility is making 
me so worked up inside that I don’t digest my food, and 
my constitution won’t stand it.” 

The inner sensation hinted at by the maid was equally 
experienced by the mistress as the taxi stopped before the 
imposing gateway of the Palace: but Cynthia left the 
driver there with instructions to await her return and 
walked as bravely as she could up the smooth drive to- 
wards the house, framing her inquiry beforehand. How 
should she put it? “Is the Bishop at home?” No, that 
sounded a little too offhand. “Is His Lordship at the 


AN EPISCOPAL EPISODE 


Palace ?’" That was not quite right either. Before she 
had decided the imposing door swung open and a man- 
servant — who was just like what a bishop ought to be in 
outward appearance — appeared on the threshold. “Could 
I see the Bishop at once on urgent private business ?” said 
Cynthia, with sufficient outward composure. 

The butler looked at her for a moment as if she had 
asked him for the candles off the Altar to light her to bed 
with ; then he replied in a steady, even tone : “His Lord- 
ship is not at home to visitors this morning. If you write 
to him he will probably make an appointment to see you.” 

“But I am leaving Mabingstoke at half-past one,” said 
Cynthia. “Mine is most urgent business connected with 
the Diocese.” 

The man looked at her without the slightest change of 
countenance, but he thought to himself that he saw day- 
light now. No doubt this pretty young woman wanted 
to complain of some clergyman in the diocese who had 
either been making love to her — or not making enough 
love to her — as the case more probably might be. Such 
things cannot be entirely unknown to the entourage of 
bishops of the Church of England. “I am sorry, Madam, 
but I cannot admit you,” he said firmly but respectfully. 

“But you must,” urged Cynthia. “It is about a living. 
I have a living in my gift, and I wish for the Bishop’s 
advice.” 

“Is the encumbency in this diocese?” inquired the 
butler. , 

“No-no,” said Cynthia. “But the point on which I 
wish to consult the Bishop was ” 

“Excuse me. Madam,” said the butler, now quite con- 
vinced that she was lying to get inside those stainless 

[207] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


portals, “I must ask you to put your request in writing. 
Good-morning.” And he closed the door. 

Cynthia rushed forward, but was confronted by a 
blank oaken surface which had withstood weapons a 
great deal more effective than an umbrella without suffer- 
ing. Then she seized the hanging chain and pealed the 
bell violently, but there was no response. She kept on 
pealing — and at last the door opened again, displaying 
the butler supported by a footman, with a fleeting im- 
pression of an ecclesiastical nose and eyebrows some- 
where in the background which instantly disappeared. 

“His Lordship has been informed,” said the butler 
sternly, “and must positively decline to see you. He begs 
you to put anything you have to say in writing, when it 
shall have his immediate attention.” During this speech 
the footman behind looked slightly scared — though he 
was a brave young man who had fought for his country 
— ^because he remembered the days before the War when 
ladies did things with hammers and bombs, and he thought 
they might be beginning again. 

“Writing is no good,” said Cynthia. Then she looked 
appealingly at the two men and made a last frantic 
appeal. “Oh! If you have wives or sweethearts — either 
of you — do beg the Bishop to see me. My errand con- 
cerns the whole happiness of two young lives. You must 
know that however much you love, it is impossible to live 
on air ; and a curate’s stipend is only air thickened enough 
to keep a family from actual starvation. Please ” 

But the remark about thickened air had shown the 
butler that Cynthia was not only forward and love-lorn, 
but — as he put it to himself — slightly off her chump. He 
closed the door again hastily. 


AN EPISCOPAL EPISODE 


By this time, Cynthia saw that the only sensible course 
was to retire and write a letter to the Bishop, but her 
blood was up and she recklessly dragged the chain once 
more, pulling until the big, old-fashioned bell could be 
heard pealing even through the massive door. She’d 
make them open the door again if she died for it ! She 
was past caring about anything but her immediate desire. 

Suddenly the door swung back, and Cynthia was con- 
fronted by a hook nose and two immense, bristling eye- 
brows. Nothing more than that was visible to her at first 
as she stood there. It was like a nightmare endowed with 
a smell of tobacco, for the Bishop still had in his hand the 
early pipe he permitted himself before starting on his 
labours. 

“P-please,” faltered Cynthia, “I just wanted to speak 
to you. It — it is very urgent.” 

“It seems so,” said His Lordship grimly. “May I ask 
whether you think you are likely to attain any object you 
may have in view by creating a disturbance of this 
nature?” 

“No,” said Cynthia, “but there seemed no other way. 
I wished to consult you about the bestowal of a living in 
my gift.” 

The Bishop’s harsh face grew no less harsh, but his 
glance softened a little. It was as Jenkins had surmised 
— the girl was slightly unbalanced. But what on earth 
were her people doing to let her wander about the place 
making commotions of this sort ? After a moment’s hesi- 
tation, he said abruptly: “Pray walk this way. I can 
spare ten minutes.” For it was necessary to obtain the 
poor creature’s name and address, of course, and Jenkins 
evidently could not be trusted to do 1 %, 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


He took the precaution of leaving the door of his study 
slightly ajar, so that his chaplain, a tall, thin young 
clergyman in an adjoining room, should be witness of 
the interview. Then he motioned Cynthia to a seat and 
asked her name. 

‘'My name,” she said, “is Cynthia Rayburn, and I have 
a living at my disposal: that of Haythorpe, in Westmor- 
land.” 

The Bishop’s eyebrows became positively startling, but 
he waited until she had finished and then took up a clerical 
directory from the table. It was as she had stated. The 
benefice of Haythorpe was in the gift of Miss Cynthia 
Rayburn, who had inherited it from her father. “What 
proof can you show me,” he said, “that you are the lady 
here mentioned ?” 

“Here is my card,” she said, handing it to him; and 
as he remained doubtful, she added : “Do you know Mr. 
Walgrove ?” 

“Yes; at least, my wife is acquainted with Mrs. Wal- 
grove,” he said. 

“Then if you really don’t believe me,” said Cynthia, 
“you had better ring up Mr. Walgrove’s office. I only 
left their house at ten o’clock.” 

The Bishop looked at her with those penetrating eyes 
which seemed to glare out from behind his immense eye- 
brows with such extraordinary effect. “You appear to 
think you can treat a church benefice as you would a 
house for sale,” he said. “Are you not aware — even if 
your story is true — of the immense responsibility that 
rests upon you?” 

“Of course I am,” said Cynthia, eagerly seizing the 
point. “That is one great reason why I wish to be re- 
[210] 


AN EPISCOPAL EPISODE 


lieved of it. I desire to place the gift in the hands of 
the Lord Chancellor, or the Bishop of the Diocese. I 
know .Pm not up to finding the right man for such a 
post.” 

The Bishop rubbed his chin and meditated. She 
seemed fairly sane after all. Should he call his wife and 
see what a feminine brain could make of it ? But some 
instinct warned him that his helpmeet — a slender, dark 
lady with beautiful hands and a genius for giving even- 
ing parties, where, as the great Boswell has it, “All was 
literature and taste without any interruption” — would not 
be useful in this emergency. 

“That is not your only reason,” he said abruptly. 

“No,” replied Cynthia. “The fact is, my Lord, I want 
to get the Reverend John Henderson a nice little country 
living, with a lawn in front of the house, in this Diocese. 
If you can arrange that, Fll hand over to the Church the 
presentation of Haythorpe, which really is a very good 
one. 

“But if your story is correct, why not give Mr. Hender- 
son Haythorpe at once and have done with it?” he said. 

“My Lord,” said Cynthia earnestly, “the girl he is 
going to marry simply can’t bear me. It is my fault, of 
course: but we never could go on living, one at the Hall 
and the other at the Rectory, all our lives. We should 
get to throwing hymn-books at each other in church.” 

The bishop looked down at his hands, which were 
pontifically folded ; but not before Cynthia had seen a 
gleam in his eyes that encouraged her a little. “What you 
sug^gest is not within the range of practical politics, he 

said. ‘‘But if you don’t like the young lady ” He 

[2II] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


paused. “I can hardly suppose Will you forgive 

me if I ask you to put your motive plainly? 

“Very well,” said Cynthia, “I suppose I must. Do you 
remember arranging to meet Mr. Henderson on Platform 
2 last Thursday ?” 

The Bishop glanced towards the folding doors where 
his living engagement tablet sat ready to come forth at 
the slightest nod, but he decided to use his own memory. 
“Let me see! Of course! Of course! And the young 
man unfortunately missed me. I had his letter of apology 
next morning. He was lunching in a room without a 
clock. Quite understandable !” 

‘7 was the one to blame,” said Cynthia. “He is engaged 
to a second cousin of the Walgroves, and I went to meet 
him, and took him into a room for tea. I — I was i>ar- 
ticularly anxious he should not go up to the Walgroves* 
that day, because I was pretending to be the second cousin 
to whom he was engaged.” 

The Bishop — who had rather a headache that morning, 
or he would not have been at home — pressed his hand to 
his forehead. He began to think he would have to call in 
the chaplain after all. “How could you pretend to the 
Walgroves that you were the Walgroves* cousin?** he 
said. “They would find you out in a minute.** 

“They’d never seen her, or me either: and we were 
both expected on the same day. I turned up and she 
didn’t — so I — I thought I’d just pretend to be her,” con- 
cluded Cynthia, faltering a little. 

“Yes,” said the Bishop. “It does sound rather im- 
possible, does it not?” 

She looked at him and ventured : “That’s because it’s 
[212] 


AN EPISCOPAL EPISODE 


true. I'm quite sure you have found out that nothing is 
so impossible as plain truth." 

“What made you do it ?" he responded after a pause. 

“I wanted to take a rise out of them," she acknowl- 
edged. “I'd had a motor spill and was dressed up in 
some clothes belonging to an old cottage woman, so the 
maid and the child took me for the country cousin. Then 
something the child repeated concerning their intentions 
with regard to me, made me very angry indeed. I didn't 
reason it out. It just happened, somehow." 

The Bishop was silent again for a few moments. He 
had a great knowledge of human nature and he began to 
think she was honest. “One fact emerges," he said at 
last. “If it can be arranged that your responsibilities as 
Regarding the Church of England are placed elsewhere, 
it may be a good thing. But such a solution seems im- 
probable. No doubt all your affairs are in trust." 

“But it can be arranged, if you will help me," urged 
Cynthia. “You see, we've not got to the point yet. If 
Mr. Henderson had met you on Platform 2, I under- 
stand there was just a chance that you — ^you might have 
had a living up your sleeve that you would think suitable 
for him. I kept him too long over his cup of tea and 
spoilt everything. He can't marry: not without a living. 
So if you won't help, I shall have to go all my life feeling 
I have sundered two loving hearts, or else I shall have to 
put up with detesting her at the Rectory.” 

“He appears to be a most estimable clergyman," said 
the Bishop. “Don't you think you will take the latter 
course in the end?" 

“I've no doubt I shall," said Cynthia ruefully. “But it 
won't work, and they'll never understand the people. 

[213] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


Cousin Nellie will always be thinking they mean to be 
rude, and keeping up her dignity. They need some one 
whose dignity is too robust to be easily hurt.” 

She caught a penetrating gleam again. “You know 
your own people?” he asked. 

“Of course I do : I love them,” she answered. 

He smiled for the first time. “Perhaps they have loved 
you too much,” he said. “Or rather — for that can never 
happen — ^they have admired you too much. You have not 
learned, my child, to control the first impulses of an 
undisciplined heart.” 

“Pm — Pm always sorry after,” said Cynthia, looking 
down. 

“Ah! People depend too much on repentance without 
penance nowadays,” he said. “But in this instance, at any 
rate, you have done everything you could to set things 
right” — ^he paused — ^“short of actually knocking my butler 
down, that is to say.” 

Cynthia made a quick movement forward. “Oh, then 
you will try what can be done? Pll tell my lawyers to 
write to you.” 

He shook his head. “We’ll leave all that. If you see 
fit, and it is possible for you to do as you wish later — all 
well and good. But you ‘must not go away from this 
room feeling as if you had done a ‘deal’ in incumbencies. 
I had already decided to present Mr. Henderson to the 
living of Wellsdene on the recommendation of his Vicar.” 
The Bishop stood up, the twinkle in his eyes quite dis- 
tinctly visible now. “I had occasion to visit Wellsdene 
recently. There is a lawn before the house.” 

He walked with her to the door, and for once she had 
[214] 


AN EPISCOPAL EPISODE 


scarcely anything to say: but on parting she said in a 
very low voice : ‘‘I will try, you know.” 

“I’m sure you will,” he said. “Don’t be discouraged. 
Eager hearts always make mistakes that other people 
avoid, but they make the world worth living in. God’s 
blessing go with you !” 

Cynthia went down the path feeling very serious, and 
on the way to the station her thoughts were of a very 
sober character, in spite of her satisfaction concerning 
the future of Loye-and-kisses-John and his future bride. 


[215] 


CHAPTER XIV 


AN hour’s amusement 

Before Cynthia left the Palace she saw already that 
there was no possible chance of catching the 1.35 train 
from Mabingstoke, and resigned herself to the inevitable 
scene with an indignant Emma, surrounded by boxes on 
the railway platform. But no scene took place, for 
Emma was past any such demonstrations, and accom- 
panied her mistress back to the hotel in a mood of such 
impenetrable gloom that Cynthia’s apologies did not seem 
to reach her through it. “So sorry — ^no other train 
reaches Haythorpe to-night — ^might have gone on to York 
and slept there, but hotels all so full nowadays and no 
certainty of rooms.” 

Thus Cynthia babbled on the stairs, and in the bedroom, 
and again in the little sitting-room adjoining: to all of 
which remarks Emma made no reply, only presenting 
slippers and novel with an impartial: “What dress shall 
you require this afternoon?” as if to say Cynthia might 
go out in a nightdress and peacocks’ feathers without 
exciting any special comment from her. 

“I have been to see the Bishop of Mabingstoke on 
business and the Palace is five miles away — ^much farther 
than I expected,” said Cynthia. “That is why I missed 
the train. I could not hurry the Bishop, of course.” 

“Indeed, Miss?” said Emma, not placated at all as 
Cynthia hoped by the mention of this dignitary. 


AN HOUR’S AMUSEMENT 


“He was very kind indeed,” pursued Cynthia. 

Emma made no reply, but attended silently to the fire 
and as silently and discreetly withdrew to the door v/hich 
divided the sitting-room from the bedroom. “I will go 
and have my lunch before I unpack, Miss. Yours will 
be served here in a few minutes.” 

“Emma !” cried Cynthia. “I do believe you think I 
am telling a lie.” 

“I should never presume to think such a thing. Miss,” 
said Emma. Then she closed the door softly and went 
away. 

Cynthia ate her lunch and read her novel, then had an 
early tea to fill up the time, for she did not wish to en- 
counter any of the Walgrove family or their friends, and 
so felt obliged to remain in those two rooms. The grey, 
late January day was darkening before five o’clock, and 
she sat aimlessly staring through the window, which had 
the same aspect as the one she had lately occupied. The 
immensely tall young person on the poster in domino and 
mask grew fainter and fainter as the foggy twilight 
thickened, and a gleam of firelight for a moment caught 
the gold bag on the table near, giving her wandering 
thoughts a new direction. What was the good of money 
if you couldn’t buy what you wanted with it? She’d far 
rather be the poor girl Anthony thought her — going to 
live with him in the little Gingerbread House — ^than as 
she was now. But then she would never have known the 
proposal was only forced out of him by the impulse to 
stand up for any one whom he thought unfairly treated, 
and one day she would have found out that it was not 
love but pity. The Gingerbread House would never have 
held them both after that discovery, and she was thankful 

[217] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


now that it had come in time. No doubt she would get 
over it eventually as other girls had to do. The glamour 
might be off things to a certain extent, for good; but 
you could not expect to keep that all your life. There 
were heaps of other interests for women in these days, 
and they were no longer dependent on the affections 
alone. Men had died and worms had eaten them, and 
women too, but not for love. 

Still she would like to have had some sort of final ex- 
planation with Anthony before setting out on that emo- 
tionless future. The loose-ended way in which the affair 
had been left worried her very much : if only everything 
could be talked out between them just once, her mind 
would be at rest. She hated inconclusive endings like 
this. Anything definite, even if it were unpleasant. 

Then a lamp was lighted outside and the tall young 
person emerged again more clearly. Odd, how the the- 
atrical posters seemed to make all the vivid colour there 
was in drab Mabingstoke. She remembered that one of 
Cinderella. 

Her heart gave a great jump as the name passed 
through her mind, and the peaceful, ordered, emotionless 
future vanished from her mind’s sight like smoke. It 
couldn’t be true that she would never see Anthony again. 
The idea of their lives being lived quite apart had been 
just contingency that fate might have in store, like being 
killed by a street accident — ^no more real than that. Now 
it became suddenly real, she could not bear it. She must 
do something. She must see him again. And now, back 
of her thoughts, she knew why she had not gone on to 
York and broken her journey there, rather than endure 
this futile turning back and remaining the night in Mab- 
[218] 


AN HOUR’S AMUSEMENT 


ingstoke, a prisoner in her own sitting-room. She had 
had the tremendous, unconscious faith in something happy 
coming which always belongs to bright natures that have 
known little misfortune, until catastrophe actually over- 
whelms them. Added to this, her faith in the power of 
money had been shaken a little, but not destroyed. She 
still felt — entirely without knowing it — ^that she had a 
right to be happier than the majority because she was so 
much better off. 

She went up to the window and stood wistfully looking 
out at the poster. If only she had allowed herself to be 
persuaded by the Walgroves to remain another night with 
them, she would have been wearing a domino herself. 
And the dance must have afforded some chance for her 
to have a last explanation with Anthony, because he was 
bound to be present owing to the object for which the 
ball was to be held. No Mabingstoke officer who felt as 
Anthony did would fail to do his best for an affair which 
was given on behalf of the orphans of Mabingstoke men 
fallen in the War. In fact, though she and Anthony had 
been too occupied with other topics to talk about the ball, 
she now remembered to have heard that Feo was order- 
ing a black mask and domino for him. The masks were 
to be removed at twelve, when the Mabingstoke citizens 
might be supposed to have capered their fill in the cause 
of charity. 

As Cynthia stood there she pictured the crowd with 
herself going in and out among them. It really would 
have been easy to disguise herself, because she could make 
her voice deep and drawling— just like that pretty gypsy 
woman who used to be with the caravan at the end of 
dead Lane. Often, when she was a little girl, she had 

[219] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


got into disgrace for visiting the gypsies. She tried a 
word or two to see if she could still do it. Yes; she had 
not forgotten. She wished she were going to the ball 
instead of waiting here. Should she go after all? No- 
body need know. No doubt she could get tickets in the 
hotel. 

But of course it was ridiculous to think of such a 
thing. Anthony had no desire to see her again, and she 
certainly had no intention of forcing her society upon 
him. 

She pressed her forehead against the pane of glass. 
The poster lady glimmered faintly through the damp air. 

‘T don’t care!” said Cynthia, at last; ‘T’ll go! I don’t 
care for Emma or anybody.” But perhaps mindful of 
her interview with the Bishop she added to herself : 
‘‘Emma shall go with me. Even Aunt Harriet would 
think it all right if Emma went too. She’d chaperone 
anybody in safety through Venusberg on a Bank 
Holiday.” 

The treat in store, however, was not yet revealed to 
the proposed recipient, who only knew that she had to 
accompany her mistress on a brief shopping expedition to 
the draper’s shop nearest at hand. As they passed a 
leather shop, Cynthia paused and looked in at the window. 
“That is rather a nice hand-bag, Emma,” she said casually, 
“I have been wanting to give you a new one. Would you 
care to have it?” 

Emma hesitated; but she was human though honest, 
and it is not in human nature to refuse a thing you often 
have longed for, the acceptance of which can do no pos- 
sible harm to any one. “You are very kind, Miss,” she 
said, compromising by not being at all eager. 


AN HOUR’S AMUSEMENT 


“It will be so nice for you to keep the tickets and things 
in when we are travelling,” said Cynthia, when they 
emerged with the bag. She was genuinely pleased, partly 
because she liked giving, but also because this transaction 
restored her unconscious faith in the power of money : or 
rather, in the ability of those who had a lot of it to, some- 
how or other, get what they wanted in life. 

So the next difficulty was tackled with more assurance. 
“I think I shall go and see this masked ball to-night, 
Emma. It is for a good cause and much better than 
sitting all the evening in the hotel. And I want you to 
come with me.” 

“Do they let spectators in?” said Emma; a little doubt- 
ful, but making no further objection. 

“Oh yes ; they’ll let us in all right if we just put masks 
and dominos on,” said Cynthia in an airy way. 

Emma stood stock-still in the street. No handbag on 
earth was going to make her do that. “No, Miss Cynthia. 
Not if I am to get myself up like that person on the 
advertisement bill. I must draw the line somewhere.” 

“But the charm of that is that no one will see either of 
us,” urged Cynthia. “We can just sit down in some 
corner and look on at the fun without any one being the 
wiser. I want you to come too, because even Aunt Har- 
riet would not mind if she knew you were with me. I 
don’t want to do anything foolish. I have made a firm 
resolution not to ; and I think you might try and help me, 
Emma. I could easily have gone without you, of course. 
But I would rather do the proper thing.” 

“Well,” said Emma, unaware that she heard echoes of 
the Bishop and feeling a little puzzled. “I’m sure I’m the 
last to want to stop you trying to do that.” She paused 

[ 221 ] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


and broke out afresh. “But I don’t like the thoughts of 
making myself such a figure of fun.” 

“You’ll be no worse than me,” said Cynthia. “Every- 
body will be the same. And just imagine what a lark it 
will be looking on at it all, with nobody knowing we are 
there.” 

Emma shook her head ; but perhaps after all it was best 
not to quench the trembling flame. “If you are set on 
going, Miss, I shall accompany you as is my duty,” she 
said, returning with bewildering abruptness to her most 
aloof attitude. 

So they entered the shop where an elderly and rather 
garrulous shopman attended to their wants. “Yes, Madam. 
Dominos this way. Tremendous run on them for the 
ladies, though it appears the gentlemen fight rather shy. 
We got a consignment down special for the affair to-night. 
Wonderful thing, two Fancy Balls in Mabingstoke in one 
week; but we move with the times, we move with the 
times.” And there was something that touched Cynthia 
in his shuffling walk and his eagerness to be brisk lest he 
should lose his job. But after all he had only three 
dominos left to show, and they all alike — a sort of green 
which nobody had chosen because it was so ugly, accom- 
panied by black masks edged with cheap lace. Even 
Emma could see that there was no unholy lure about these 
garments, and she actually hastened back to the hotel to 
shorten her own with some slight anticipation of enjoy- 
ment. After all, as Cynthia had said, it might be rather 
amusing to sit and watch the dancing from a safe corner, 
and she was further reassured by the fact that Cynthia 
did not put on dance slippers, but kept on the black suede 
[222] 


AN HOUR’S AMUSEMENT 


ones with dull silver buckles which she had been wearing 
all the afternoon. 

The ball started early, as was the custom in Mabiiig- 
stoke, and by eight o’clock cabs and cars were stretching 
from the big Assembly Rooms right round the corner to 
the doorway of the hotel which opened upon the street. 
Dry pavements made it easy for Cynthia and her com- 
panion to walk the short distance, and they slipped out of 
the hotel almost unnoticed amid the throng of people com- 
ing in by train from the suburbs who crowded the hall 
of the hotel. Girls giggling, middle-aged women feeling 
self-consciously adventurous, an odd man or two in 
domino and mask carrying it off with bravado and talk- 
ing about the South of France, where they did this sort 
of thing properly. 

The same atmosphere prevailed in the huge Assembly 
Rooms, where the numbers rapidly grew too large for any 
good dancing. The majority of the men were in ordinary 
evening dress and Cynthia from her seat by the wall heard 
Mr. Walgrove explaining this phenomenon to a partner. 
'The original idea was, of course, that ladies wore these 
masks and dominos because they didn’t wish their friends 
to know that they were out. Ha! Ha! The twentieth 
century has changed all that, my dear lady; the fair are 
now the brave.” 

Emma also heard and was surprised. "You’d wonder 
a gentleman as old as that one there should go on setting 
hisself like a young cock on a manure heap,” she 
whispered, relapsing utterly into the vocabulary of her 
early youth. 

"Look at that yellow domino,” said Cynthia, willing to 
divert Emma’s attentions from Mr. Walgrove’s gallantry. 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


‘*She said something to a man just now that startled him.’' 

"‘The one that’s put on a voice like a peahen?” said 
Emma. “I should take shame to be running about and 
making such a silly of myself. Ah!” She lowered her 
voice still further and added in a flurry: ‘There’s tha^ 
gentleman — Mr. Anthony Walgrove — the one you intro- 
duced me to as your lady-friend.” 

“Never mind,” said Cynthia. “He can’t possibly recog- 
nize either of us.” But in spite of the careless tone she 
felt the sudden thud of a heart that would, in spite of 
her, welcome the man she loved. 

Then the yellow domino hid him frcwn her and she 
heard the high voice suddenly squeaking in Mr. Med- 
way’s ear : “Where’s that girl you kissed and threw away 
last summer?” 

Upon which that debonair gentleman lost his nerve, 
grew red and flustered, replied angrily: “I never did — 
I don’t know what you mean !” and walked away in a huff. 

Cynthia’s eyes began to sparkle. For here was the 
chance which she had been seeking from the first moment 
she entered the room, though of course she had not 
actually owned, even to herself, that she was here to get 
speech with Anthony once more before leaving Mabing- 
stoke. She turned ingratiatingly to Emma: “I wonder if 
you would mind being alone just for five minutes. It 
would be rather fun to mix in the crowd and say things 
to one or two of the people. There would be no danger 
of my being recognized. You remember how I used to 
talk just like the gypsy down Dead Lane when I was a 
school-girl.” 

“I might have known you didn’t mean to sit quiet here 
for long,” said Emma: then she pursed her lips. “Of 
[224] 


AN HOUR’S AMUSEMENT 


course, you will do as you wish, Miss. I shall be here 
when you require me.” 

Cynthia checked an impatient speech. “Well, I shall 
not be more than a few minutes,” she said; and immedi- 
ately mixed with the crowd for fear of further protests. 

At first she allowed herself to go with a stream that 
was moving towards the door leading to the sitting-out 
rooms, but soon the strangeness wore off and she felt 
able to pursue her search for Anthony without any em- 
barrassment. Indeed, a sense of expectation and adventure 
began to take hold of her, and all else was lost sight of in 
the knowledge that a few minutes at most must see her 
talking to Anthony once more. Everything grew im- 
mediately brighter with that thought, as if sunshine had 
suddenly burst upon a dull scene. The people were kind, 
the band was spirited, even Mr. Walgrove with his heavy 
gallantries was a jolly part of the whole. 

At last she saw Anthony, who was not wearing a mdsk, 
and her courage ebbed a little, for he looked grave and 
rather aloof, as he usually did in repose. She felt nervous 
again when she touched his arm, and could scarcely com- 
mand the deep drawling note of the gypsy woman which 
she had assumed. “Penny for your thoughts!” she said. 

He swung round as if startled: then after a pause he 
said lightly : “Not worth it ! What were yours ?” 

“I was wondering why you stood there looking so 
serious. Won’t you dance with me? I have no friends 
here.” 

“I won’t repay your kindness so badly,” he said. “I 
am no dancer. But perhaps if you have no friends, you 
wou’t mind sitting out with me for a little while.” 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


“I may be able to dance, but not to amuse you/’ she 
answered. '‘You don’t want me.” 

“No; but I want to,” he said. 

“You’ve said that to a girl before to-night/’ she 
answered. 

“Yes.” He paused. “But she was the girl before.” 
Then he went on: “Won’t you come and sit down? I 
know a nice place at the end of the corridor.” 

“Ah ! I suppose that’s where you took the girl before. 
I hope she was nice,” said Cynthia in that low carrying 
contralto. 

He led the way, but the place was already occupied and 
they sat down on two basket chairs near a rusty palm. 
“Nice, did you say?” he asked. “Well, she was rather. 
You see she liked fairy-tales and I grew up on them my- 
self. As a matter of fact, every charming girl I met 
seems to me like Cinderella, or the Goose-Girl, or some 
one of my old loves.” He glanced round, then put his 
hand on hers. “For instance, I’m beginning to feel that 
you are the Princess who was condemned to wear a mask, 
because the Evil Enchantress was jealous of her complex- 
ion. I can’t help it being like that. You must forgive 
me. 

For she had shaken off his fingers abruptly. 

“I hope you always make it clear that you are only 
telling fairy-tales,” she said commanding her voice with 
difficulty. “Some silly girl might believe you.” 

“No,” he said. “That’s just the charm of the whole 
thing. They never do believe me. So no hearts are 
broken.” 

“Then you don’t believe in real love?” she said, staying 
with him against her will. 

[226] 


AN HOUR^S AMUSEMENT 


“Depends what you mean by it.” 

“Have you ” she paused — “Have you never felt 

anything more than a passing fancy for any of these fairy- 
tale girls then?” 

He looked down. “Only a passing fancy,” he said. 
“Never more than that.” 

The band wailed, the violins seemed to draw across her 
heart with an aching sweetness. 

“Aren’t you rather sorry?” she said. 

“Sorry !” he echoed. “Oh no ; for I can go on always 
loving each one, just as I do Cinderella and all my other 
lovely girls. None will ever grow fat or old or anything 
I don’t want them to be.” 

“But supposing one remembers?” said Cynthia, the 
words slipping out before she could keep them back. 
“What will she do all these years ?” 

“She’ll forget me.” 

“But if she doesn’t?” 

He smiled down at her with the old, whimsical smile, 
hurting her unbearably. “If she doesn’t quite forget me, 
she’ll become Patroness of a League for Preventing 
Children reading Fairy-Tales, I daresay,” he answered. 

Cynthia opened her lips when an M.C. approached with 
an apology and some remark to Anthony about the 
arrangements for supper. That checked the outburst 
which seemed inevitable, giving her time to consider. She 
rose and went away while the two men were speaking. 

“I’m so sorry. Green Domino. See you again,” he called 
after her, and the next minute she was hidden from him 
among the crowd that surged in from the dance just over. 

For a little while she felt unable to think or speak, 
letting herself drift with a stream that was going toward 

[227] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


the buffet. The glare, the voices, the moving figures all 
seemed now a long way off; the slip-slip-slip of feet on the 
polished floor when the dancing started again was sicken- 
ing in its monotony. She was a strong girl, and yet she 
felt physically sick and faint as she sat down by Emma — 
listening to that slip-slip-slip on the floor. She felt she 
would always hate that sound as long as she lived. At 
last Emma’s voice reached her, rather tart apd impatient : 
“Have you had enough. Miss ?” 

“Yes,” said Cynthia grimly; and the sick faintness 
rolled back at the faint stir of a queer inward laughter, 
though it was at the expense of her own overwhelming 
unhappiness. “I’ve had enough.” 

“Not,” acknowledged Emma, on the way out, “that it 
hasn’t been better than sitting in the hotel all night. I’m 
glad I went. The more you go out the more you learn, 
of course. I saw you speaking to Mr. Anthony Walgrove. 
He’d be surprised to find you here still, I expect” 

Cynthia murmured some inarticulate reply, but Emma 
was now feeling cheerful and garrulous. She had been 
to a masked ball in costume and had emerged alive and 
unscathed, and it would be an experience to refer to 
casually in housekeepers’ rooms or when visiting her rela- 
tives for a long time to come. “Your Aunt can’t have a 
word to say about it with me there,” she said. “I can tell 

her you never spoke to anybody but Mr. Anthony ” 

“I am glad you enjoyed it,” said Cynthia, pressing her 
hand to her forehead. “But I have got a splitting head- 
ache, and when we get in, I must go straight to bed. I 
don’t want anything.” And in spite of Emma’s remon- 
strances she adhered to this decision. 

Only when she was alone dared she allow herself to 
[228] 


AN HOUR’S AMUSEMENT 


take in what that conversation with Anthony really 
meant. The incredible truth that he went on just in the 
same way with every girl who took his fancy emerged as 
clear as daylight. Even when they had supper together 
that first evening, he was only doing what he had done 
many times before. Oh ! how could he? How could he? 
She bit her handkerchief, holding back her sobs. He was 
not worth crying for. 

But that was the worst agony of it — that he was not 
worth crying for : she had not even a happy memory left 
to keep. 

Then something in her defended him against herself. 
At least, he had not tried to marry her for her money — 
but perhaps that was because he did not want to lose his 
freedom : he preferred to make fairy-tale love to any girl 
who caught his fancy, like the Pierrot that she had first 
thought him. His pale face — with the heavy eyelids and 
beautiful mouth and the lock of black hair on his forehead 
— was so plain upon the darkness of the room, and when 
she shut her eyes she still saw him. 


[229] 


CHAPTER XV 


THE LADY OF THE MANOR 

When Cynthia awoke next morning the first object that 
met her eyes was the ugly green domino laid across a 
chair. Its tawdriness seemed somehow to epitomize her 
experience of the previous night. She looked back almost 
with a sense of wonder at the girl who had followed the 
old shopman between the long counters, thinking herself 
unhappy and yet still full of belief in herself and in human 
nature. Since then those two beliefs had received a stag- 
gering blow, of which she would keep some mark all her 
life long, whatever might come after. As soon as it was 
fully light she got up, feeling too restless to wait for 
Emma to come in, and went along the corridor to the 
bathroom. They were to leave at 9.40, and she had a 
feverish anxiety lest anything should happen again to 
delay her journey. Her other emotions had worn them- 
selves out for the time being, and she was chiefly con- 
scious this morning of a sick distaste for the drab streets 
of Mabingstoke and a hope that she might never look on 
them again. 

As she returned from the bathroom, along corridors 
smelling of smoke and fog where the electric light still 
fought with the increasing day, she was vaguely aware 
of a tall figure in a dressing-gown who bolted out from a 
room in the usual hunted manner of the modest male 

[230] 


THE LADY OF THE MANOR 


obliged to seek his bath in regions where ladies may 
abound. Neither looked directly at the other, of course, 
but in scurrying past the unfortunate gentleman let a large 
sponge fall just in front of Cynthia’s feet. “Beg your 
pardon,” he mumbled, then gave a tremendous start; 
muttered “Good-morning,” and tried to hurry on. 

But Cynthia would not let him. “I’m sorry to detain 
you, but I absolutely must,” she said firmly. “Will you 
be kind enough not to let the Walgroves know you have 
seen me, Mr. Henderson?” 

He at once felt himself so immensely astute — as a 
very simple-minded man nearly always does do, on 
scenting a mystery — ^that he almost ceased to be conscious 
of his dressing-gown. “I don’t think I can promise until 
I know the reason of your request,” he answered. “There 
has been so much that is incomprehensible. Your taking 
my fiancee's name, for instance ” 

“That was stupid, of course,” said Cynthia. “But 
everything is going to be all right in the end. I suppose 
you got a wire from the Bishop?’^ 

“Why — what can you do ” Henderson stared at 

her as if the very snail on his pathway had turned round 
and said something derogatory to his dignity; aghast, 
annoyed and yet striving to remember that the same Hand 
had made them both. “I can scarcely believe that the 
Bishop has acquainted you thus prematurely with any 
intention he may have,’" he said stiffly. “May I ask when 
you saw him ?” 

“I called at the Palace yesterday,” said Cynthia, think- 
ing to hearten him. “It’s perfectly true. I am so glad, 
Mr. Henderson.” 

“You called at the Palace!” said Henderson. “You 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


don’t mean to say he was willing to see you without an 
appointment ?” 

“He was not,” said Cynthia. “Anything but,” she 
added. “Still, I did see him, and we spoke about you.” 

“I trust you explained that our acquaintance was of the 
slightest,” said Henderson, very pink and erect in his long 
dressing-gown, with his thick hair standing up like a 
crest over his forehead. 

Cynthia could not help laughing to herself, though she 
was feeling so miserable. It was so like Love-and-Kjsses- 
John. “You needn’t be afraid. He thoroughly under- 
stands that we are not intimate,” she said. “I don’t 
think you will find I have done you any harm, though.” 
Then her own unhappiness swept back upon her like a 
,wave — every one knows how — engulfing her in its aching 
dullness. “I should be sorry to leave Mabingstoke feeling 
I had injured you or Miss Nellie Walgrove,” she said 
wearily. Then a lady emerged cautiously from a room 
close at hand, and made Henderson become once more 
acutely conscious of his hair and his dressing-gown, so 
with a hasty Good-morning he passed on, leaving her 
planted. 

She stood a moment, looking after him. How long ago 
seemed that morning at the railway station ; all the fun and 
zest of life still untouched by disillusion — ^then she turned 
back to her room, haunted by a fear lest anything should 
happen again to prevent her leaving Mabingstoke. 

Even when she was safely in the train, with the wire 
already sent to Aunt Harriet, announcing her arrival that 
evening, her nerves still fluttered at the sight of a tele- 
graph boy calling up and down the platform. But at 
last they were off; and at first the relief from that ridic- 


THE LADY OF THE MANOR 


ulous suspense seemed almost like returning happiness. 
The day was pleasant — ^trees, fields and houses . covered 
with a light hoar-frost and sparkling in the pale sunshine, 
and when the train reached York, people were going about 
with pink cheeks and cheerful voices. After changing 
there, Cynthia sat near the carriage window while Emma 
went to buy a paper. Suddenly she caught sight of Dam- 
ley Miller coming along the platform, looking into each 
carriage as he passed. ‘‘Ah ! here you are !” he said when 
he saw her. “Good-morning. Lovely day, isn’t it?” 

“You seem to take it as a matter of course to find me 
here,” she said, shaking hands. “Did you come just on 
the chance?” 

He shook his head, smiling, and straightened himself. 

“I don’t leave things like that to chance,” he said. 

“Surely Emma didn’t wire you?” said she sharply. 

“No ; don’t blame Emma. She had nothing to do with 
it.” 

“Then who had?” persisted Cynthia. 

“Well, if you will know ” he laughed — “I bribed the 

hall porter at Mabingstoke so heavily that the poor fellow 
couldn’t refuse. I daresay he’d been in love once him- 
self. I told him to send me a wire to the hotel here when 
you left, in case you should pass through while I remained 
in York. I’m here on business.” 

“Oh, here is Emma,” said Cynthia, leaning out. 
“Emma, it is time you got into the carriage.” 

“Good-morning, Emma,” said Miller, with a jolly con- 
descension which she admired as being just the right thing 
from a gentleman to a maid. “Got plenty of fashions to 
study, eh?” 

Emma responded very amiably and seated herself in 

[233] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


the far corner of the carriage. This, now, was the sort 
of admirer she could understand a young lady taking a 
fancy to ; and she immersed herself in a newspaper so as 
to give him his chance. But when the train was about 
to start, he got in also. “I think Fll come a little way 
with you,” he said. 

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Cynthia vehemently. “You’ll 
be left kicking your heels for hours at a country railway 
junction if you do. Do get out. There’s time yet. This is 
perfectly ridiculous!” 

He settled himself in his place and smiled at her as the 
train glided off. “I know it is ridiculous — with all I have 
on hand. You don’t suppose I do this sort of thing often, 
do you ?” 

“I suppose you do whenever it pleases your fancy,” said 
Cynthia rather shortly. 

He leaned forward and lowered his voice — not that he 
cared twopence about Emma, but he did not know how 
Cynthia might feel, “You know you are the one girl in the 
world for whom I would have set aside an important busi- 
ness engagement,” he said seriously. 

“That’s what you all say.” She paused and stared a 
moment out of the window. “But there is always the 
girl before— and the girl after.” 

“Who’s been telling you that?” he said. “Sounds as if 
it had come out of a second-rate society play. At any rate 
it is not true of me, Cynthia.” 

She did not answer, and he refrained from spoiling 
the effect of his remark by adding to it. After a while a 
very pretty woman, passed down the corridor, and he said 
in quite a different tone : “You wouldn’t think that was 
a business woman and public speaker would you? The 

[234] 


THE LADY OF THE MANOR 


old saying with us that a girl has too much brains to be 
bonnie wouldn’t hold good nowadays. Wonder why all 
the artless Mid-Victorian misses hid their brains; they 
must have had ’em all the same.” 

“It was the instinct of self-preservation working,” said 
Cynthia. “They knew they had to seem silly if they were 
to get married, and there was nothing else for them to do. 
We should all turn pea-green in time if something ate us 
up if we didn’t match the surrounding pastures. That’s 
why people get a uniform drab in little country places — 
the gossip-spider gobbles up the coloured ones.” 

“Ha ! Ha ! Rough on the country that !” said Miller. 
He thought she meant to be amusing, and so he laughed, 
though he was not amused. But he was aware of the 
figure she would make at the head of his table talking 
nonsense to those who happened to like it, and of her 
power to advance his career socially, financially and politi- 
cally. She was the one woman he had ever met who was 
exactly adapted to fill that place in his life, and he was 
determined to have her. Without her, that solidly brilliant 
future ould be incomplete. Besides, he was in love with 
her. He was madly in love with her, of course ; so he told 
himself as he sat opposite to her, and so he thought, not 
knowing what it was to love. He felt that he was no 
fortune-hunter looking out for an heiress, because his 
own fortune was nearly equal to hers now, and would be 
greater. Still it was right that his wife should have 
money, brains and beauty, otherwise she would not fit 
into the plan of existence which he had made out for him- 
self from his earliest youth. Thus he reflected, sitting 
there with the strong light on his active well-nourished 
figure, his hearty complexion of an even pink, his reddish- 

[235] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


brown hair and excellent clothes. He was so taut, con- 
trolled, intensely virile, that his ardent admiration could 
not fail to soothe any woman whose vanity had been badly 
hurt by a lover, as well as in her affections. 

Cynthia was obliged to feel her love must be worth a 
great deal, after all, if this man wanted it so badly; and 
the sting of sore vanity certainly eased a little as he con- 
tinued to pour this healing balm upon it. She saw him 
there — radiant, confident and yet eagerly grateful for the 
least encouragement, with his very appearance suggesting 
power, affluence, efficiency, success, expensive motor-cars, 
dinners at palatial restaurants — ^the pride of life as she 
knew it. He caught her intent gaze and leaned forward ; 
then hesitated. After all, it was impossible actually to 
propose again before Emma. Not that he minded, but 
girls — even the cleverest and most level-headed of them 
— were apt to be unexpectedly romantic, and he might do 
more harm than good. So he began to talk instead, about 
a speech he intended to make in the House on the follow- 
ing night. “I wish you could have gone over it with me,’’ 
he said. “You’re so quick-witted. If only a time ever 

does arrive ” He paused. “They’ll say marriage has 

brought Miller out and no mistake,” he ventured. 

“I wonder you can fit everything in,” said Cynthia, 
passing that over. “One would think you had enough to 
do without standing for Parliament.” 

“Oh, I like to have a lot of irons in the fire. Enjoy 
being in it up to the chin, you know. So will you when 
you once begin.” He rose as he spoke, for the train was 
slowing down at the station where he had to alight. “See 
you again before long. I’m coming home next week end. 
By the way, I hear they are getting up a play all in a 


THE LADY OF THE MANOR 


[ hurry for the Winbury Golf Club — ^greens want a lot of 
doing to, pavilion redecorating, and so on. They’ll be 
overjoyed to hear you are back. I think they are stuck 
! *for a Lady Teazle because Eve Waddington has measles. 
You’ve played it before, haven’t you?” 

“Yes,” said Cynthia, “but I don’t want to again.” 

“Well, you’ll see.” He had his foot on the step. “Good- 
bye until Saturday then.” 

“You’ll have hours to wait here. I’m afraid.” 

He laughed. “You bet I shall not. Find some means 
of getting away.” He smiled at Emma in her corner. 
“You trust me for that!” Then he lowered his voice: 
“But if I am stuck here for some hours I shan’t care. I 
have had my reward.” 

The train moved away from the platform, and she 
looked back at him as he stood there — confident, prosper- 
ous, full of affairs, but making her his first object. As 
she waved a farewell to him, she realized all this, then 
leaned back in her place and turned to Emma. “I hope 
Mr. Miller will not have long to wait.” 

Emma gave a murmured assent ; but her partiality for 
Damley Miller forced her to add after a moment or two : 
“Now that’s what I call a real gentleman. No half and 
half about him. Did you notice his beautiful socks. Miss 
Cynthia?” 

Cynthia shook her head, smiling, and took up a paper. 
The train rushed smoothly along, with the hedgerows giv- 
ing place to grey stone walls, and the country-side begin- 
ning to look bleaker — more like home. She sat half -hyp- 
notized by the swiftly moving landscape, and the events 
and scenes of the past four days passed through her mind, 
not in sequence, but in a confused medley that made her 

[237] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


memory ache. At last they reached Wynton, the station 
for Haythorpe, where every one from the station-master 
to the most lately- joined newspaper-boy knew that this 
was the girl to whom nearly the whole of Wynton be- 
longed. The new little town with its hotels and boarding- 
houses and clean, wide streets stretching away towards 
the magnificent golf-links that were at the root of its 
popularity as an inland holiday resort — all had been the 
growth of one generation ; while the road leading to Hay- 
thorpe remained just as it had been in the time of Cyn- 
thia’s grandfather, when her aunt by marriage, who now 
lived with her, had been a young bride. Long before the 
end of the six miles which separated Wynton from Hay- 
thorpe, the last sign of modern improvements had dis- 
appeared ; and the narrow lane leading up to the Hall, with 
low stone walls on either side, and the dark wood away to 
the east had, on this darkening winter afternoon, an air of 
rather austere loneliness. Everything was as it had been 
three hundred years ago, and that short run in the car 
from the station seemed like going back into a dead past 
out of the lighted and jangling present. So at least Cyn- 
thia felt it to-night — ^though she had been used to the old 
house all her life, and had often come back to it vrith joy 
from places' far gayer than M'abingstoke. 

When the wide door of her own house opened — ^the 
light streaming out upon her as she walked up the stately 
steps — she had a feeling of having been away for a long 
time. That was her chief thought as she embraced Mrs. 
Rayburn ; that she couldn’t only have been away since last 
Wednesday. But! of course there were questions to 
answer. Yes, it had been all right, but a week-end was 
sufficient. Surely, Aunt Harriet did not seriously expect 

[238] 


THE LADY OF THE MANOR 


her to stay a whole month. People didn’t pay such visits 

nowadays. She knew she ought to have written But 

it happened most fortunately that Bumpy, Mrs. Rayburn’s 
dog, was indisposed, for though the good lady loved Cyn- 
thia most sincerely, still Bumpy was in a way more in the 
foreground of her life, together with Parker, her maid. 
So awkward questions were put on one side for the 
moment while details of Bumpy’s sufferings were given. 
For Mrs. Rayburn had shirked effort during so many years 
that she was now a prisoner within walls of her own 
building, never going away from home and very seldom 
receiving any guests in the house. Cynthia had grown up 
with all this and never thought of questioning it. Aunt 
Harriet was *'not equal to” having people to stay, and there 
was an end of the matter. She herself could get all the 
gaiety she wanted elsewhere without any trouble. 

Thus it was that Bumpy’s illness and the unfortunate 
accident to Parker’s false teeth screened Cynthia’s mood 
from Mrs. Rayburn’s perceptions on first arrival. But 
after dinner, with Bumpy more at ease, and Parker’s 
absence not felt for the moment, Mrs. Rayburn fixed her 
large faded blue eyes on her niece, settled her ample figure 
into a more comfortable angle and began to inquire about 
her old school- friend. 

“Perhaps I ought not to have made such a personal 
matter of your going, Cynthia,” she said. “But I was 
afraid Darnley Miller would rush you into marrying him 
before you really knew whether you wished to do so or 
not, if you stayed where he could get at you. And I 
knew the atmosphere of the Walgroves’ home would be 
so different from anything you were used to that it would 
act as a mental change of air — clear away any cobwebs, 

[239] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


you know. But I don’t wonder you found it too dull. I 
remember the only time I ever stayed with Millicent 
Vinder, before she was Mrs. Walgrove, of course — ^they 
had high tea and family prayers. It all seemed so good 
and simple. I was eighteen and had just left school, and 
I remember we both had old rose zephyrs that summer, 
Milly and 1. I suppose she has altered very much. Dear 
me ! I can’t think of her as old. She is the only school- 
friend I have kept up with at all, and we only write at 
Christmas-time. But I’m sure she would be kind.” 

Cynthia hesitated ; it was plain that she could so easily 
destroy that one sheltered, flowering spot in Mrs. Ray- 
burn’s youth which a dull creeping autumn had left 
behind. “They have moved with the times, of course,” 
she said. “But — but. Aunt Harriet — I did something very 
foolish. I’d had a spill in the hired car, and got wet, and 
borrowed some awful clothes from an old woman ” 

“My dear! I hope they were clean!” interrupted Mrs. 
Rayburn. 

“Yes,” said Cynthia. “But the point is, I turned up at 
the Walgroves’ in these things, and the little grandchild 
took me for a country cousin whom they were also ex- 
pecting, and had never seen. They evidently didn’t much 
want her, and made sure beforehand that she would be 
awful because she was poor, which seemed a bit unfair. 
So the idea flashed into my mind all of a sudden, that 
it would be good fun to pretend to be the country cousin — 
as I was in those clothes. So I did.” 

“I’m sorry for that,” said Mrs. Rayburn. “It seemed 
to be showing a want of respect to people less well off 
than yourself, Cynthia. But I suppose they forgave you 
when they knew?” 

[240] 


THE LADY OF THE MANOR 

“They did,” said Cynthia. She waited; should she say 
anything about Anthony? Certainly, she would not tell 
how “Millicent” had planned to marry her to him because 
she was rich. “I think they all forgave me but the son; 
he thought Fd been making fun of his mother and re- 
sented it.” 

“Quite naturally,” said Mrs. Rayburn. “I am rather 
ashamed that the girl I brought up should have done that, 
dear. Your sense of fun runs away with you. However, 
s6 long as Millicent is not really offended, I suppose we 
must make the best of it. That is always the way, Cyn- 
thia ; you do these ridiculous things and then people for- 
give you, so you never learn any better. Like those poor 
Miss Tappers in the village, when you were only ten ” 

The flow of reminiscence this started ran its even course 
until a maid came in with a further favourable bulletin 
about Bumpy’s health; after which Mrs. Rayburn dozed 
and Cynthia went to the shelves where she ran her fingers 
along the backs of the old books that had been the friends 
of her girlhood. She was in a mood almost placid, induced 
by the warmth and ease and familiarity of her surround- 
ings after strain; secretly surprised to find that she Was 
not suffering, and yet afraid to tell herself she was free 
from pain, lest it should come on again. 

Then her glance fell on the dull, gold title of a book on 
the lower row — On Loving at First Sight. And immedi- 
ately the pain stirred, increased in agony, was upon her in 
all its might again — everybody knows how, who has suf- 
fered. She could have cried out, for it was like a physical 
stab. Ehiring a few seconds, the shelves before her ran 
into each other and she felt the ground sway under her 
'feet. Like a picture flashed on the wall, sh^ saw the road 

1241] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


leading from the Gingerbread House, with Anthony and 
herself walking on it. She stood outside herself and saw 
both of them as if she had not been in the body at that 
time and had watched them together. Then from a long 
way off came Mrs. Rayburn’s voice, concernedly speaking 
to a servant about Bumpy’s arrangements for the night. 
After a pause, and a closing of the door, she turned to 
Cynthia: “You look tired, my dear. Won’t you have a 
glass of milk and go to bed?” 

So a few minutes later Cynthia was in her own room, 
with the furniture and all the little belongings that had 
surrounded her from childhood round her, and the white 
bed under the blue canopy waiting for her to sleep in. A 
wood fire burned in the grate, causing a thousand leaping 
gold and red flames to blink in the polished woodwork of 
table and bureau and dressing-table: reflected beautifully 
in the long looking-glass of the dark mahogany wardrobe. 
It drifted across her mind how often she had stared into 
that mirror, wishing she were Alice, and imagining what 
there was to see beyond. Then a sudden, overwhelming 
sense of loss drowned every other feeling. She’d lost all 
those dearest little friends of her youth, too. There would 
never be anything but pain any more in remembering Cin- 
derella and the rest ; the very memory of the happy hours 
she had spent reading about them and dreaming about 
them was to be avoided for the rest of her life as some- 
thing that held a hurt in it. And all this because of a man 
who had made light love to her one night, and to one 
whom he believed to be another girl the next. What she 
had taken to be a lovely secret link between those two, 
which no one else in all the world could ever know about, 
was nothing but a part of his usual armoury of flirtation. 

[242] 


THE LADY OF THE MANOR 


She had thought of him — the Anthony she loved — as re- 
ceding from her into some far place where she could not 
follow if she disappointed him. She had kept up a stupid 
pretence, just to try and make sure of his love before 
that happened. And now he had proved to be only a 
creature of her own imagination. He had never existed. 

She was now in front of that long mirror, taking off 
her dress ; and she stood still with one hand to her throat, 
surrounded in the reflection by all those leaping golden 
lights. The rising sobs that she kept back seemed to choke 
her. Anthony ! Anthony ! She could not help her whole 
soul crying out just once, after the departing lover of her 
dreams. Then she heard her aunt knocking at the door. 
'‘Come in !” she said wearily, sitting down by the fire. 

'‘Ah!’* said Mrs. Rayburn, rubbing her hands, “I am 
glad to see you have a nice fire, dear. I have just been 
down to see how dear Bumpy is, and I thought I would 
just come in as I passed. You looked so tired when you 
went upstairs. By the way, you never told me why you 
actually left the Walgroves after all. I understood you 
to say they were not offended. Did you not like the son ?” 

Cynthia looked down at the fire. “Oh, yes,” she said, 
'T liked him ; but he doesn’t think much of me.” 

“How odd !” said Mrs. Rayburn. “I suppose he has no 
sense of humour. But it doesn’t matter, does it? You 
are never likely to see him again,” 


[243] 


CHAPTER XVI 


A CHARITY PERFORMANCE 

Two days later a letter came from Mrs. Walgrove to 
Mrs. Rayburn, which was a really masterly example of 
the art of saying nothing about a difficult subject in a 
great many words, without offence. There was a shorter 
one on the same lines for Cynthia, who was thus able to 
feel that her aunt could now go on comfortably reviving 
memories of girlhood every Christmas as before. A third 
letter from Mabingstoke in an unknown hand ran as 
follows : — 

“Dere Sinthia, 

*T wish you wold come back and mary Uncle 
Anthony. I don’t like that Diner Medway though she is 
so Rich. But you are Rich too. Nurse is ritii^ the 
address. She sed she wold for you turned out a reel 
Lady in the end. I expect you gave her a 1 pound Noat. 

‘^Yours affeshly 
‘HThloe. 

“P.S*. — I wish you wold come back. I wish you wold 
mary Uncle Anthony if you had not 2d, 

“P.S. — I am afeared it is no good. I heerd Uncle 
Anthony tells Mums that he did not want to mary enny- 
body.” 

[244] 


A CHARITY PERFORMANCE 


Cynthia smiled at the queer little letter, though almost 
every word touched a sore place in her heart. No wonder 
that the Walgrove attitude towards money — which 
appeared in this poor child like an hereditary disease that 
can no longer be hidden — had produced an abnormal re- 
action in Anthony. She still felt sure that he would have 
stuck to her if she had been as poor as he originally be- 
lieved her to be, though he might secretly have regretted 
the impulse which led him to shackle his freedom. But 
this wealth of hers which gave her a right to so much in 
life had actually made it easy for Anthony to throw her 
over. With an alacrity she could not disguise from her- 
self, he had let her go back again into a world where she 
could have everything there was, without any assistance 
'from him. She had obviously not been worth the price. 
He preferred his freedom and his fairy-tale flirtations with 
any girl who took his fancy. 

She listened to the latest news of Bumpy, who was now 
almost restored to health, and then went upstairs to con- 
sult with Emma about a wedding-dress for the gardener’s 
daughter. She and this pretty girl had been playmates as 
children, and before this visit to Mabingstoke she had been 
nearly as deeply interested in the trousseau as the future 
bride. Now a sort of fog seemed to envelop ever)rthing 
to which she turned, taking colour and interest out of the 
days. But life had to be gone on with, and there was no 
time to sit brooding. 

Immediately after luncheon she drove over to Wynton, 
where the rehearsals for The School for Scandal were to 
be held, and witnessed in action that desire of the moth 
for the star which is never so clearly displayed as in 
amateur theatricals. They show with such naive openness 

[245] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


why the plain girl wants to play Juliet and the fat little 
man, whose romance nobody can take seriously, craves to 
take the part of Romeo. They desire for once in their 
lives to seem wdiat they have always longed to be. 

Cynthia had acted Lady Teazle before and was word 
perfect, so she took over the part with very little trouble. 
Her acting was really excellent for an amateur, while her 
laugh in going off the stage after her interview with Sir 
Peter was so fresh and natural that her fellow-actors 
applauded. She was pleased and responsive as usual, 
though a certain wry thought of what Anthony — who had 
condemned her crude presentation of the Country Cousin 
— would say of this legitimate performance, touched that 
aching string in her heart which something always seemed 
to be pulling. 

On the actual night of the entertainment she stood be- 
fore the long mirror looking so lovely in her brocade and 
powder and patches, that Emma actually felt stirred at 
the sight of so much beauty, though she had helped in* 
putting it together. Youth, love, wealth, gaiety — all the 
things Emma’s life had lacked stood there before her, as 
she knelt fingering a fold of the flowered petticoat — and 
involuntarily tears came into her eyes for what she had 
missed. But she herself did not know they were for that. 
She only said to herself she needed a tonic, or she would 
be getting like Cook who cried if you looked at her though 
so stout and red in the face. 

But she had forgotten that odd moment by the time she 
reached her place in the body of the hall at Wynton, where 
she sat near Cook and Parker, all three feeling very proud 
of Miss Cynthia, and quite understanding the enthusiasm 
of Mr. Darnley Miller, who came in late. They all made 
[246] 


A CHARITY PERFORMANCE 


sure the magnificent bouquet of pink roses handed to 
Lady Teazle had been brought by him, and Parker said 
she heard he had exceeded the speed limit most of the 
way along the Great North Road in order to get there at 
all. “He’s the sort/’ said Emma, “that would hire an 
aeroplane to bring Miss Cynthia rolls from London for 
breakfast if she fancied them. That’s the sort of young 
man for me.” 

“Me, too,” agreed Cook. “None of your T’m willing if 
you are’ style about him. If he’d only lived in the time 
of that play they’re acting, he’d have popped her into a 
coach and away to Gretna Green as soon as look at you.” 

“I hope she’ll have him in the end,” said Parker. “Do 
you think that she will. Miss Williamson?” 

Emma pursed her lips, endeavouring to appear full of 
information which she would not let out. “M'y young 
lady has a great many admirers,” she said. “There was 
an Earl going out before breakfast at one house we stayed 
at to gather violets for her, and his man told us nobody 
could be fonder of his bed. I couldn’t say nothing as to 
her intentions, I am sure.” 

“Well, for lily part,” said Cook, “I think Mr. Miller’ll 
manage it. A female likes to be taken in a rush, whether 
she’s an heiress or one like you and me. Miss Williamson.” 

The opinion of the audience being so much the same, 
general interest was concentrated on Miller, who sat in 
a front seat, with his pink face heightened a little in 
colour, and glowing with health, energy and success. All 
conceded the right of a man who had got so much to have 
more, and they already saw Cynthia and her husband sky- 
rocketing through the higher heavens of the international 

[247] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


plutocracy with “Interests’" of every kind streaming 
comet-like in their wake. 

Cynthia herself felt this surcharged mental atmosphere 
and that, together with the constant, hidden strain of try- 
ing to keep away thoughts of Anthony which buzzed round 
again like bees after each dispersal, wrought her up to a 
high' pitch of nervous excitement. The pupils of her eyes 
were so dilated that they shone black under the powdered 
wig, sparkling most brilliantly; her voice vibrated with a 
fluty clearness through the hall — never in her life had 
she acted anything near so well. But she was aware all 
the time of an underpain only just rendered bearable by 
the counter-irritant of excitement. Every now and then 
she became conscious of a mass of pale, blank oblongs 
that she knew were faces, with now and then a glare of 
spectacles catching a gleam of light, or a mass of dark 
hair making crude shadow. Once Miller’s face emerged 
from the rest; then that of an unknown woman with 
white hair — a smiling girl in blue — a lad with an enormous 
set of yellowish teeth; just as the light happened to fall 
upon them. She knew she was surpassing her best as she 
stood behind the screen waiting for the most dramatic 
moment of the play, while the audience felt that odd thrill 
which is a not-yet-understood result of magnetism. She 
stepped forward; and they almost held their breath, so 
delighted were they with the little current running from 
one to another and tickling the emotions. Then — suddenly 
— Cynthia faltered in her words. She recovered herself 
and went on with her part, but the current had been cut 
off. The audience saw her for what she was, an ordi- 
nary, good amateur, helped by a charming appearance; 

[248] 


A CHARITY PERFORMANCE 


and she continued to say the words with smiles and pretty 
gestures as she had been trained to do. 

But she was now afraid as well as unhappy — afraid of 
her own vivid imagination, which had been allowed to 
develop unchecked during her childhood and girlhood. 
She had imagined too often the little green men peeping 
in the rides of the wood, and wild beasts following her 
out of each door as she passed at twilight down the darken- 
ing stairs — ^all those playmates that had given her such a 
half-fearful delight — and now she was paying for it. For 
in this way her imagination had gained power to play her 
the terrifying trick that caused her almost to break down 
in her part, and she had actually seen Anthony’s face, 
starting out with absolute clearness from that palely gleam- 
ing mass. She realized that her obsession must have 
caused her vivid image of him to take shape, and the 
physical sensation which this produced for the moment was 
horrible. The whole place went dark and she was seized 
with a deadly feeling of sickness. The world had seemed 
full of eyes that hurt as they stared at her, pressing her 
down : then with a stupendous effort of will she managed 
to gather her powers together and go on. 

But twice during the next few minutes a return of that 
sick horror came over her like a wave for an instant and 
then passed. Was she going out of her mind ? Had she 
so given reins to her imagination that she might now be- 
come the victim of a fixed idea? 

She shuddered — speaking her words without life or 
sparkle — trying to keep down her thoughts. And beneath 
her fear was a desolating sadness. All the memories of 
those fairy-haunted dewy lanes and summer woods were 
now made hideous. He had not even left her those mem- 

[249] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


ories. They would all seem now to have been leading to 
this intolerable end. 

At last the play was over. Lights went up in the hall 
and Cynthia immediately was surrounded by tangible flesh- 
and-blood people who talked of supper. The nervously 
excited mood of the earlier evening, and the overwrought 
distress of the last half hour now gave place to a third 
state of mind, far more favourable to Miller’s hopes. His 
virile, material personality seemed so attractively safe 
and normal. She had an indefinite feeling that with him 
there Anthony’s face could not suddenly gleam out again 
at her and cause her such agony. For this man whom she 
could not forget was after all only a phantom. He had 
never lived save in her imagination. It was weak and 
despicable to go on enduring this pain for the loss of that 
Anthony of her imagination, who was no more real than 
Cinderella or the Fairy Prince. The true Anthony Wal- 
grove had tried to make love to a stranger on the very 
first opportunity after parting from her. He had no am- 
bition : no forcefulness : he was just Pierrot 

She walked with Miller down the long passage which 
connected the concert hall with the big, new hotel, and as 
it was narrow and people perforce walked in couples. 
Miller now had the opportunity which he had motored up 
from town to obtain. Fortune always seemed to favour 
him, so he thought to himself, because he was always 
taking risks and working hard to propitiate Fortune. 

“You were simply splendid,” he said. 

“Glad you thought so,” said Cynthia lightly; but her 
face was white under the paint and her eyes shone with 
a curious, unnatural brightness. “It was very good of 
you to take such a lot of trouble to come.” 

[250] 


A CHARITY PERFORMANCE 


“Fd go anywhere to see you, as you know,” said Miller, 
whose brilliant powers did not run in the direction of pro- 
ducing new flowers of speech for his lady. “I once saw 
a book called Round the World for a Wife, or something 
of that sort, and upon my word, Cynthia, Fd chuck up 
Parliament and all, and circle the planet like a shot, if I 
thought you’d be silly enough to think any better of me 
for it. But when I do make that trip I most ardently 
hope that you will be of the party.” 

“I have sometimes thought it would be rather fun to 
get up a party,” said Cynthia. “Julia Waddington ” 

“I mean a very small party,” he interposed. 

“Well, not more than half-a-dozen. When you get a 
lot of people they always quarrel,” said Cynthia speak- 
ing quickly. 

“I quite agree,” he said, then glanced round, and saw 
another couple close behind them. “I have to leave to- 
morrow after an early lunch. May I call on you about 
eleven? We’ll talk about the trip then, shall we? 

“All right. Castles in the air are better than none, I 
suppose,” said Cynthia, laughing excitedly. 

“My castles in the air usually materialize in the end,” 
said Miller. 

They were entering the hall of the hotel as he spoke, so 
Cynthia was spared the necessity of answering. “Oh, 
what a crowd of people !” she said. “I suppose they have 
come down for the week-end for golf. Isn’t it wonder- 
ful, when you think this was only a sleepy village thirty 
years ago? Aunt Harriet said they used to turn round 
to look at a stranger in the street.” 

She talked fast about trifles as they passed through the 
hall to the dining-room, where supper was laid for the 

[251] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


performers, and Miller walked by her side in a glow of 
satisfied achievement. He was going to get what he wanted 
in the way of a wife, as he had always done in other 
affairs since leaving school. A post on the staff in 
France : never a scratch, though he was not at all wanting 
in courage — only with the instinct of self-preservation 
tremendously developed. He had begun to plan before 
he entered the dining-room how he would further develop 
Wynton and turn the whole place into a little gold-mine 
for owner and tradespeople alike. He felt an immense 
swelling of pride as he took his seat by Cynthia, realizing 
that everything he touched turned to gold. Even his love 
turned to gold. For he was in love with Cynthia, after a 
fashion. 

He filled her glass and entreated her to eat instead of 
playing with the food on her plate, in such a proprietary 
fashion that everybody at the table considered them 
engaged. Cynthia’s obvious excitement confirmed this 
idea, as did her over-bright eyes, her rather shrill laughter, 
her abrupt silences and foolish speeches. 

Julia Waddington — -whose bold blue eyes and wide 
mouth did not accord very well with powder and patches, 
though she managed to wear the air of a beauty — re- 
marked on this from the other end of the table. “Poor old 
Cynthia! Got it badly. She has eyes for nobody but 
Miller. Well, you can only be young once !” 

Her companion laughed. “No novelty to you, eh? I 
expect you made eyes at the parson when he christened 
you. And think of the stream of men you have done it to 
since.” 

“Never included you, anyway,” retorted Julia. 

“No, that’s why I’m so bitter; green-eyed monster, of 


A CHARITY PERFORMANCE 


course,” said he. And after this fashion they continued 
to amuse themselves, their conversation punctuated by ex- 
clamations and gusts of laughter. 

Cynthia also appeared to be delighted with Miller’s* 
obvious pleasantries, laughing before they were over his 
lips, and keeping those over bright eyes almost the whole 
time on his face. Those to whom her behaviour seemed 
foolish thought her a little off her balance with the excite- 
ment of the performance and a love-affair approaching its 
climax. If — as Julia observed — she had eyes for nobody 
but her lover, this was after all but a pretty and natural 
attitude on the part of a girl either just engaged or about 
to become so. 

Indeed, her nervous concentration on Miller finally 
made him almost uneasy. He began to think that there 
was something queer about it — something beyond the ordi- 
nary excitement of a girl. Why did she keep on staring at 
him like that? He was not a nervous man himself, but 
he began to feel uncomfortable. 

“Do look at Julia,” he said at last. “She seems in great 
form.” 

The words had the desired effect, and Cynthia’s odd gaze 
was removed for the moment, but she seemed almost 
afraid to look about her lest she should see something 
that she wished to avoid. And indeed this was exactly 
what she did feel. That sudden starting out — as it were — 
of Anthony’s face from that dim mass of faces in the 
audience, had given her a shock. She had seen it so in the 
darkness last night when she fell asleep, and when she 
awdce in the small hours, and it was becoming an obses- 
sion. She feared her imagination, which had always given 
her such joy. 


[253] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


But Miller’s robust materialism somehow made her feel 
safe. She felt sure that image of a disordered fancy 
would not intrude between her eyes and his face, but if 
she gazed away towards the crowd or the flowers or the 
blank wall she might perhaps see it again. She felt 
violently determined to rid herself of an infatuation for a 
man who did not love her, and whom she had only loved 
because of the qualities with which her imagination had 
endowed him. This nervous obsession was but the fitting 
result of an affair that never had had any reality. She 
turned to Miller with a desperate assurance of his power 
to help her to get over it. When they two once got out 
into the full stream of life together, all this misery would 
be blown clean away into the past. 

Then they were rising from the table. Again she had 
that odd sense of standing outside herself, of hearing her- 
self speak as if she were some one else: “Oh no, not at 
all too early. Then I shall see you about eleven.” 

Some one brought the bouquets which had been given 
her, and she carried Miller’s roses, while he took the 
others. The band was playing in the hall as they passed 
through on the way to the car ; people stared and smiled, 
or came forward with words of congratulation on the 
performance. There was a sort of feeling about, that the 
band might appropriately strike up the Wedding March. 
As the car went off, leaving Miller on the steps of the 
hotel, the lively Julia murmured to her companion: 
“Hardly seems decent for fiim to let the bride go off like 
that, does it?” 

Cynthia waved her hand and then leaned back in the 
car, answering Emma’s remarks at random, and thinking 
every minute to see Anthony’s pale face stand out with 
appalling clearness from the starlit fields. 

[254] 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 

Consiaenng the events of the previous night, no wonder 
Darnley Miller hummed ‘‘The Voice that breathed o’er 
Eden” while he performed his toilette, and came buoyantly 
down to the hotel dining-room with something bride- 
groom-like about him. He looked even sprucer than 
usual ; though his apparel always did resemble, if not the 
lilies of the field, those long-stemmed roses from a florist’s 
shop which are just a little too perfect to please. 

He ate heartily, conscious of being healthier, more ener- 
getic and more successful than any one else present, and 
he considered with zest the improvements that must be 
made when he was married to the owner of the place. He 
did not forget that glowing figure in the foreground, but 
his ardour could not render him blind to all the rest, and 
he saw the joys of marriage with Cynthia no more and 
no less clearly than the joys of developing a fine property. 
After breakfast indeed, when he strolled out awaiting the 
car which was to take him up to Haythorpe Hall and bliss 
at eleven, his thoughts of Cynthia and her belongings 
were merged in a sort of sunshiny glow which left the one 
inseparable from the other ; perhaps the girl even retreated 
a little, while the glorious possibilities of the rising inland 
pleasure resort grew more distinct. But at any rate he 
pictured her as always there, assisting at a triumphal 

[255] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


progress during which the happy couple were to snatch 
from Fate as they whirled along the most magnificent 
amusements, honours, titles and properties which this 
planet could afford. 

Cynthia herself, after a good night’s rest, began to see 
the future stretching before her in something of the same 
fashion. The bright morning light streamed in through 
the ten windows of the disused ball-room which had been 
added to Haythorpe Hall in the reign of George the 
Fourth, and those strange, dark thoughts of the previous 
night seemed to have vanished like bats in the sunlight. 
She felt strong enough now to keep them out of her mind : 
they were only the last end of a foolish dream that had 
never had any foundation in reality. Her lonely child- 
hood — when she had perforce made friends of dreams — 
was responsible for the whole thing, and she was lucky 
to have escaped in time. Then her eyes fell on the high 
double door which now happened to be open and her 
bright glance widened. Just so she had stood here a 
hundred times during her childhood, picturing Cinderella 
coming in with the Prince. 

The next moment she turned sharply and walked down 
the room with heels tapping on the polished wood, the 
dreaming softness quite gone from a face which had 
suddenly become shadowed with a possibility of hardness 
— not yet hard, but betraying that shadow. Her thoughts 
were vivid enough to be seen from the outside — She’d 
done with that nonsense ! All the joyous little playmates 
who had made her childhood so happy and full of fun that 
she was never conscious of her loneliness, must now be 
banished into the past. They had very nearly led her into 
breaking her heart for a dream. So she forced herself to 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


dwell on the approaching interview with Miller, feeling 
that he was the best protection against any return of the 
old foolishness. It was not yet eleven o’clock, but she felt 
restless, and as she was always intolerant of suspense, 
the heavy minutes tick-ticking from the great clock in 
the hall drove her out into the garden to await Miller 
there. 

Her mind was not exactly made up, but she knew quite 
well that he would probably have persuaded her to accept 
him before she returned to the house, because everything 
v/ithin her, save one little urging somewhere at the centre 
of her being, now made her wish to do so. But it was 
sad that the threat of hardness in her face kept deepening 
as she passed each nook and bush that her fancy had be- 
fore peopled with friends. 

But the faint blight which had gradually grown on her 
from earliest youth, owing to her having more money than 
other people, was of a sort that spreads very rapidly. She 
was no longer in danger of thinking money could buy 
everything, but had reached the further stage of feeling a 
little contempt for all those things money cannot buy — the 
attitude of mind that is indeed the narrow gate through 
which a rich person enters so hardly into the heavenly 
places. 

The drive /down which she went branched into two at 
a yew tree, one path going directly towards the main en- 
trance to the park while the other approached the Wynton 
road by a side gate : and she hesitated a moment, stand- 
ing at the meeting-place of the two paths, with the yew 
casting shadows upon her and upon the short grass. There 
was a rustle in the dark branches, and she remembered the 
old woman she used to picture there — a kind witch, with 

[257] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


an owl and a broomstick, who sold charms to make people 
happy, strung together from those little red yew-berries 
you must not eat — and the very feeling and scent of past 
sparkling mornings came back to her. Then a reaction 
made her begin to hurry along the path towards the side 
gate, for she was sure Darnley Miller would come that 
way because it was the most direct; he always chose the 
shortest and most direct route to reach his object. All of 
a sudden the old, half frightened sensation of dangers 
lurking and following which she must run to escape, most 
oddly took hold of her now. She hastened towards the 
safety and comfortable materialism of Darnley Miller, 
just as she had once fled from the dark stars to the lighted 
drawing-room, with the safe click of tea-cups and Aunt 
Harriet knitting. The sound of the side-gate clanging 
was as welcome to her as the clatter of cups had been 
during that last lap across the great twilit hall, and she 
rounded a group of laurels with flying feet and wide eyes, 
just the same. 

Then she stopped dead. Anthony !” she gasped. But 
she felt he was not real; he was but a figure thrown on the 
green bushes by a trick of her imagination: the epitome, 
somehow, of all she was trying to run away from. 

“How do you do?” he said easily. “You look as if I 
were a ghost.” 

The blood which had receded, leaving her very pale, 

came rushing back into her cheeks. “I — I You 

startled me,” she said. 

He held out his hand. 

“Isn't that solid enough?” 

“Yes.” She paused, then added in spite of herself : 
'‘Why have you come ?” 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“To see you. Princess — and how you were accommodat- 
ing yourself to the one crumpled rose-leaf under your nine 
feather beds. But I gathered last night you had already 
ceased to feel it.” 

Her face changed. “Then you did wonder ” But 

before the sentence was finished, she remembered how 
soon he had made love to that other girl at the masked 
ball. “Oh, you need not think I am going to start it all 
over again,” she said. “I know you for what you are, 
now. I love fun. I always have done. But if anything 
could make me hate it, it would be your incorrigible 
frivolity.” 

He glanced away for a moment, then looked at her with 
that whimsical smile which she detested herself for once 
having loved and for being moved by still. “Those are 
brave words,” he said. “Incorrigible Frivolity! And no 
one can say you are not dramatic. First there was the 
Country Cousin — which you must own was a poor per- 
formance — then Lady Teazle, and now the Didactic 
Princess.” He held out his hand. “So weT ring the 
curtain down on that. Princess. Good-bye!” And the 
next moment she stood alone by the clump of laurels, 
almost wondering if the interview had been as imaginary 
as others which had taken place there years and years 
ago. The whole thing had been no less unreal and fan- 
tastic — Anthony himself seemed as little burdened with 
the human standards of life. 

Then she suddenly felt a hot wave of indignation sweep 
through her from head to foot. How dared he come and 
talk to her in his old way after all that had passed between 
them ! He had only one virtue as a lover — he would not 
marry for money — and that just because he would not 

[259] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


sacrifice his freedom. She went on with head erect 
tov/ards the gate, glad that she could hear Miller’s foot- 
steps crunching briskly on the gravel and not approach- 
ing noiselessly as Anthony’s had done on the short grass. 
The man she was going to marry ought to be as different 
as possible from the hero of that preposterous week-end 
adventure. 

Miller called out to her in his round, full voice before 
she reached him — not quite the conquering lover yet, but 
with that as well as everything else bound to come his 
way. ‘T say! You really ought to provide a ’bus or 
something to take your rejected suitors away when you 
turn ’em off so early in the morning. Not safe to leave 
them walking about the lanes. I nearly ran one down 
just a bit further down the road.” 

Cynthia felt startled. “Was he hurt?” she said. 

“Not much. Only unmistakable symptoms of a broken 
heart. Walking straight down the middle of the road with 
his hands in his pockets and his hat over his nose. ’Pon 
my word, I came round the corner and was right on to 
him almost before I saw him,” continued Miller, finding 
in this topic something which gave an added zest to his 
own interview with Cynthia, for though he liked every- 
thing there was in life and meant to have it, he would 
not have enjoyed success so much if others had not been 
obliged to envy him. “I offered to give the poor chap a 
lift, but he declined. Said he was only a bit stunned and 
would be all right in a few minutes.” 

“Then he really was hurt?” said Cynthia quickly. 

“Oh no ; nothing to matter. I have sent the car back 
to the front gate, so if there were anything wrong my 
chauffeur would see as he passed.” He paused. “But I 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


didn’t come here to talk about a man on the road, Cyn- 
thia. I came to ask you about our trip round the world.” 

She laughed nervously. “Oh, that takes some thinking 
about.” 

He came nearer and took her hand. “I’m ready to start 
now, you know. I have been waiting for this moment ever 
since you grew up, Cynthia. I shall never forget that day 
when I saw you in your first evening gown with your 
hair twisted round your head instead of loose. I wanted 
you from that minute. I knew straight off, that you and 
I could have a splendid life together.” 

She drew a little away from him. “But supposing I 
had not liked you? You seem so sure of everything; but 
that might have happened, you know.” 

“Thank the gods, it didn’t,” he said. “But I never felt 
sure of you at all. That’s where you make the mistake. 
I only hoped I might win you some day if I tried hard 
enough, because I am a lucky devil and generally do get 
what I want in the end. I knew you were a tremendous 
prize in the matrimonial market, but I should have loved 
you just the same if you hadn’t had a penny.” And 
when he concluded thus, he actually thought he was speak- 
ing the truth. 

Cynthia heard this ring of sincerity in his voice and was 
influenced by it. “If a rich girl was all you wanted, you 
would have found one somewhere else, of course,” she 
said. Still, for the life of her, she could not make the 
words sound anything but stilted and unreal, even to her- 
self. Again she experienced that odd sense of standing 
outside herself and hearing herself say those unmeaning, 
stilted words which were to decide the whole course of 
her future. It was as if a marionette were pronouncing 

[261] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


a death sentence. But her thoughts recoiled from the 
simile with such violence that her mood altered. She was 
no longer outside herself — a sort of bewildered spectator, 
but in the midst of a turmoil of feeling which she could 
not understand: she was only bewildered and miserable, 
with something aching terribly at the back of her mind. 
Then she became vaguely conscious of the nearer odour 
of good tobacco and expensive soap. “Do you really think 
you hurt him?” she said. 

He moved back, turning red across his face as if he had 
been stung with a lash. “Are you harping on that fellow 
yet ? Who is he ?” 

“Anthony Walgrove. You ought to have been more 
careful.” Suddenly — emotion running before thought — 
she felt furiously angry with Miller : hated to think of him 
coming along triumphant in his powerful car, knocking 
down Anthony on the road. Yet justice forced her to see 
Miller was not to blame. Anthony ought to have looked 
out. “ He is the son of the people with whom I was stay- 
ing at Mabingstoke,” she explained, softening her abrupt- 
ness. 

“Does this mean you like him, then ?” demanded Miller. 
“I ask you to marry me, and you ” 

“I want to marry you, Darnley,” said Cynthia. “I 
mean to marry you.” Her voice faltered. “But you must 
have a little patience with me. I — I don’t want to get 
engaged this morning.” 

He gave a short laugh at this anti-climax, though he 
was still very angry. “You’re not playing fast and loose 
with me?” 

“Indeed, I am not,” said Cynthia earnestly. “I do 

wish to marry you, but you must ” She paused. “I 

[262] 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


want you to understand now that Fm not in love with 
you/’ 

“Are you in love with anybody else?” 

She hesitated, anxious to be perfectly honest. 

“No. I don’t think I have it in me to feel as some girls 
do. I have never been in love with a real person, and I 
don’t believe I ever shall be.” She flushed deeply — ^it was 
so difficult to explain a dream to Darnley as he stood wait- 
ing there in all his prosperous forcefulness — and yet it 
was that quality in him she wanted, to keep her safe from 
the dangers into which dreams led her. She must try to 
explain. “I fell in love with Dick Whittington at the 
pantomime when I was a little girl,” she said, “and I 
fancied myself in love with my own idea of a man later 
on. But one was not a bit more real than the other. I 
found that out very soon. Only — I don’t want you to be 

disappointed — after ” But she could not make it 

sound sense, even to herself, so no wonder he passed it 
over without comprehension. 

“So long as there’s nobody else I don’t care,” he said. 
“I have not the slightest doubt that we are cut out for one 
another. Never have had, since you were old enough to 
think of marrying. And I’d sooner have you a bit over- 
imaginative than not,” he added handsomely. “Sort of 
complement to me. Make us get on all the better. My 
imagination all runs to business, you know. I shall leave 
the soulful side of the establishment to you.” He gained 
command of his irritation as he spoke, and by the end was 
quite good-humored ; pleased with himself, as usual, and 
pleased with life. If Cynthia wanted a bit more rope, she 
should have it, though all this was very aniiO)dng when 
he had such a lot of important business on hand, and de- 

[263] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


sired ardently to put his love affair into its proper pig^eon- 
hole, neatly docketed ‘‘achieved/’ 

Cynthia was conscious of this attitude, and responded 
to it, feeling once more how safe she would be with him. 
He would keep her for ever from straying out of the 
glorious stream of life where were pleasure, change, ex- 
citement, power, notoriety — all the pride of the fair — into 
those musty corners where you found nothing but sad- 
ness and dreams. She was so glad to have this defence 
against her own weakness that she felt very kindly towards 
Miller. When he said : “A girl who doesn’t dislike a man 
she is going to marry, will soon come to love him all right 
** she believed that he might be speaking the truth. 

At any rate, she was ready to take the risk — only not 
to start this morning. Then a faint honk ! honk I in the 
distance caused Miller to glance at his watch. “I must 
be going now,” he said. “I told the man to sound the 
horn if I didn’t turn up. Guessed I should be so engrossed 
as to forget the time, you see. And I have an appoint- 
ment this afternoon which may make a good deal of dif- 
ference to my future and — ” he pressed her hand — ^“yours. 
I like to think shall be taking you along with me, 
Cynthia.” 

She returned the pressure, looking at him gravely: it 
was rather splendid and exciting to feel she was going to 
be carried along in that triumphal progress. 

A few steps away, he turned round to wave to her, and 
called out : “We’ve not fixed up about our trip round the 
world, after all. Do that next time.” 

She waved back, smiling. 


[264] 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE ROAD 

In returning to the house Cynthia again passed the 
clump of evergreens where the drive forked to lead in the 
direction of the side gate. She hurried on at that point 
because she did not wish to think about Anthony, or to 
feel again the anger against Miller which began to stir 
within her at sight of the lane where Anthony had been 
knocked down. An instinct of self-preservation urged 
her to leave all that behind her and to hold on to the 
recollection of the interview just over. She wanted — as 
she had said — to marry Miller, for he could satisfy that 
part of her which had slowly matured side by side with 
her girl's dreams. He could ensure her obtaining from 
the world that very best of everything — which she sub- 
consciously always felt she had a right to, because she 
could pay for it — and he would justify her in that con- 
tempt for things with no money value in which she had 
been glimpsing at once a solace and a protection. She 
was voluntarily closing on herself — as she walked slowly 
across that lawn — that narrow gate through which some 
rich people do, after all, keep the power of going in and 
out. 

But as she passed the open windows of the ball-room 
which was still airing in the sunshine, a sudden picture, 
complete to the last detail, sprang into her mind. For no- 

[265] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


earthly reason that she could understand, she saw An- 
thony’s face as it had suddenly stood out to her vision 
among the sea of faces in the audience on the previous 
night. The pale oval, the heavy lids, the curved mouth 
and the streak of black hair on the forehead — ^they inter- 
posed themselves now with almost startling reality be- 
tween her eyes and the long row of open windows. 

Then her thoughts went back to Miller and the accident 
in the lane. Supposing Anthony were more hurt than 
Miller imagined, and even now lay by the road-side, need- 
ing help. Now she could see his pale face turned up to 
the blank sky. Oh, but this was ridiculous ! The chauf- 
feur would have seen him. Besides Miller had said he 
was all right. But Miller might think so. She found 
herself walking swiftly back towards the side entrance 
without knowing that she had turned, her thoughts going 
on in front of her: at last she began to run, trying to 
keep pace with her fears. But when she emerged upon 
the lane there was nothing, and her excitement dropped 
dead like a shot bird. She felt an odd calm that seemed 
to stretch away and away, filling all her future. That 
was the end of it, then. She gave a deep sigh of relief 
and walked with quiet, even footsteps, intending to go 
round by the lane to the front gate ; unconsciously anxious 
to avoid endangering this mood by passing the clump of 
laurels again. A sort of bright, calm lightness pervaded 
her mind. This, then, was how people felt — as one so 
often read — when they had left the fevers and turmoils of 
adolescence behind: she was glad to have reached that 
stage — soberly thankful for the prospect that stretched 
out in front of her — ^most thankful to be sure of a pro- 
tection against endangering it. Instinctively she felt that 

[266] 


THE ROAD 


the gods she was going to serve brooked no divided wor- 
ship, and that Miller was the man most fitted to keep her 
heart fixed. They’d have everything — ^they two together. 
Her quick imagination began to exercise itself at once on 
the pageant of their future lives. There was nothing — 
nothing they couldn’t expect : nothing too splendid to look 
forward to. 

Her steps quickened again, keeping pace with her 
thoughts. She 'did not look about her, being so engrossed 
with the inward vision : but a thrush suddenly trilling out 
caused her to turn her head as she reached the corner of 
the lane, and there she saw Anthony. For a moment she 
felt he was unreal, because he remained sitting still on 
the grey wall and looked so exactly as she had seen him 
in her mind a few minutes ago. Then he called out cheer- 
fully : 

Still here, you see.” 

‘'Why are you waiting here?” she said. 

“Oh!” He paused. “Fm just waiting for a man,” he 
answered easily. 

“Fm sorry Damley Miller’s car knocked you down,” 
she said, hesitating between going and staying. 

“My own fault,” he answered. “Fm stiff and slow at 
moving, you know.” 

There followed a brief silence: then she burst forth 
suddenly : 

‘T don’t know why you came. Why can’t you leave 
me alone?” 

‘T told you why I came,” he said. “I wanted to make 
sure we had not sent you home really any the worse for 
your visit to M’abingstoke. You’ll think me a conceited 
fool, but after you had gone, I began to be almost afraid 

[267! 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


lest I might have made you a little unhappy. I see now 
that it is not so, and I am very glad.'’ 

“You can talk like that ?" she cried. “Oh, no wonder I 
believed in you! You don't know that I stayed a night 
longer in Mabingstoke after leaving your house." 

“Yes, I do. Henderson told Nellie, and she brought 
the news to us. He didn't wish to begin his marital ex- 
perience by keeping a secret from his future wife, so she 
said.” 

“I can see her saying it!" responded Cynthia. “Well, 
I may as well tell you another thing now. I went to the 
Masked Ball in the evening for an hour." 

“Did you?" said Anthony. 

“Did I ?” she echoed. “Oh, you can have no sense of 
shame ! I was the girl in the green domino that you made 
love to there, though you'd sworn only twenty-four hours 
earlier that you loved me." 

“How curious !" he said. 

“Is that all you have to say?" she asked, then her voice 
faltered a little. “I don't know how you could — you 
talked to her just as you did when — I mean before.” 

They were near together now, gazing into each other's 
faces. 

“I believe you knew — all the time?" said Cynthia sud- 
denly. 

“Do you?" 

“You did know it was me all the time," she repeated. 

“Well, if I did " 

“Why on earth did you behave like that ?" 

He withdrew his gaze and a rare flush coloured his 
face ; she could hear him breathe deeply. 

“I saw you would be better free from the entanglement 

[268] 


THE ROAD 


into which an impulsive freak had led you, so I did my 
best to finish off the job neatly,’^ he said. “Seriously, 
Cynthia^ I saw you were inclined to marry me upon an 
impulse that had no more depth in it than the one that 
prompted you to play the part of Country Cousin. I 
didn’t want to take advantage of that, and I didn’t want 
to lay up misery for either of us. You see I have proved 
myself in the right. I gather you have already arranged 
a far more suitable marriage.” 

But she did not seem to hear what he was talking about. 
She stood there, eyes shining, the rich red flooding from 
brow to chin. “Anthony ! You knew all the time. Oh, 
I am so glad ! I am so glad !” And she began to cry, the 
tears rolling down her cheeks as she still gazed at him. 

“You mean you are glad you can think well of me?” 
he said gently, taking her hand. “That is like you, dear 
little Goose-Girl. I believe I came because I hated so for 
you to think badly of me. I want you to go on thinking 
too well of people all your life.” 

She held his hand fast : for here he was again — ^the real 
Anthony whom she loved and whom she could not live 
without. “You must marry me, unless you want me to 
think badly of everybody,” she said, sobbing. “I need 
you if I am to make the best of myself and my life.” 

“But what about Miller?” said Anthony, drawing his 
hand away. “I supposed you were engaged to him.” 

“Only three-parts engaged,” said Cynthia eagerly. “And 
he can look after himself. He is sure to get somebody 
richer and nicer. You know what he is. He’ll be all 
right. But our only chance of being happy is to marry 
each other. I know it is, Anthony.” 

He took her hand again, smiling as she loved to see him. 

[269] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


‘‘I wonder if you are right, Goose-G^rl. The other would 
be the more sensible way for both of us, you know. I 
don’t think I am cut out for the post of hanger-on to 3 
rich wife, and you would shine as the partner of the sort 
of man I shall never be.” 

“Anthony,” said Cynthia, “you believe you care less 
about riches than I do, but you care more. I never hesi- 
tated a minute — until I thought you didn’t love me. But it 
is so much more important to you, that you want to let it 
ruin our lives. You are more like your own people than 
you imagine, Anthony. They think too much of it in one 
way, and you in another. You can’t really love me, after 
all, or you would not mind taking my money. I shouldn’t 
care a bit, if I had not a farthing. I should delight in 
feeling I owed everything to you. But my property comes 
into my own hands when I marry, and there will be plenty 
of hard work for you to do, so you need have no fear of 
not earning your living. Oh, I hate all this talk about 
money. We are letting it take the very loveliness out of 
being in love.” 

“We won’t do that. Come and sit by me on this wall, 
Cynthia.” He spoke very gravely, putting his arm round 
her. “I love you with all my heart and soul.” 

“O Anthony ! My dear, dear old Anthony !” 

“After all is said and done,” he said emerging from a 
state of inarticulate rapture, “there is one bright side to 
your being an heiress : we shall not be obliged to have a 
long engagement.” 

“That’s true,” agreed Cynthia. “I never did approve 
of long engagements.” 

“But I suppose you’ll want a grand wedding ?” he con- 
tinued. “Well, after all, every bride must have her day. 

[270] 


THE ROAD 


And I daresay you owe that much to your own people 
about here, who are so fond of you.” 

“Yes. There’ll always be that side of things for both 
of us, Anthony,” said Cynthia. “I really mean to try my 
very best to make everybody dependent on me as happy 
as we are. I can’t succeed, but I mean to do all I can.” 

He held her closer. “Our honeymoon will be our very 
own, though. Where shall we spend that?” 

She thought a moment before answering, sure that any- 
where would be all right with him, and yet wanting to 
please him. “I know,” she said joyfully. “I’ve got it! 
A little inn I once lunched at in the Yorkshire Dales, in 
the very midst of all the loveliest, wildest country, with 
fresh cheese and plum-cake for lunch, and the nicest land- 
lord, with red cheeks and a round sort of voice, just like 
you see in old-fashioned Christmas Annuals. I noticed 
a young couple there, who seemed to be on their honey- 
moon, and I thought then, it was a lovely place for one. 
It will be great fun to pretend we are just two young 
people like that, not too well off, and nobody curious 
about us.” 

“What about all the new frocks ?” said Anthony, smiling 
down at her. 

“Shan’t take them!” retorted Cynthia, eagerly following 
out her idea. “I shall wear that plain coat and skirt I 

had at Mabingstoke and — and Oh, I know — thick 

black woolen stockings of the kind that somehow bag 
round your ankles. No heiress on a honeymoon could 
have a more complete disguise than that.” 

He laughed. “Dressing up again ! Dear little Goose- 
Girl, I can see you when you are seventy, larking about 
with a broomstick and a cap out of a cracker, and pre- 
tending to be a witch to amuse your grandchildren.” 

[271] 


THE GIRL IN FANCY DRESS 


'That’s a long way ahead,” said Cynthia. 

And for a few seconds they both sat quiet, gazing down 
the long road they hoped to tread together and which 
looked so full of sunshine. Then Cynthia remembered 
what Anthony had said when she arrived. 

"That man you are waiting for has not turned up yet,” 
she said. "Rather a blessing he didn’t. Who is he ?” 

“I don’t know,” said Anthony. 

"Waiting for a man you don’t know!” said Cynthia. 
"You are an old silly!” 

"Not at all,” said Anthony. "On the contrary, I found 
when I had walked a few yards that my ankle was 
sprained, so I sat quietly down to wait for my preserver — 
like a young lady in an Early Victorian novel.” 

"That abominable ” began Cynthia : then she stopped 

short. "After all, I feel I should like to kiss both Darnley 
Miller and the chauffeur,” she concluded. 

"Not so free with your kisses! They belong to me 
now,” said Anthony. "But I’m afraid poor Miller will 
be in need of consolation.” 

"I have behaved badly to him,” said Cynthia. “But it 
was your fault.” 

“I don’t know how you came to love me so,” he said. 

And they embraced again, almost solemnly this time. 
Then she went away down the road to bring some one to 
take him into the house ; but as soon as she was out of his 
sight, the old feeling came back to her that she could 
never be entirely sure of him — ^that he might at any 
moment slip away from her into those remote places of 
the mind. Well, she’d follow 


[272] 


THE END 





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